


Watford Cove

by bazypitchandsimonsnow (ChessPargeter)



Series: Tumblr Prompts [5]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, Punk/Pastel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-06-24 16:11:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15634164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChessPargeter/pseuds/bazypitchandsimonsnow
Summary: Baz Pitch only cares about smoking, skipping school, and riding his motorcycle. That is, until he meets a beautiful new kid who is bright everywhere Baz is dark. But a lot of things stand between them. Can they find a way together? Or will it make them fall apart?Based on "Punk/Pastel AU" request.





	1. i got that summertime sadness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S DONE!!! IT'S FINALLY DONE!!! If you follow me on Tumblr, you know this fic has taken a few months, what with it's eventual length, my stupid job, and my stupid health problems. But I did it!!!! And I really hope it's worth the wait. I'm going to try to post a chapter twice or three times a week, but with all my shit I can't guarantee a consistent schedule. I'll try though. Everything is already written. I just need to edit and tighten it all up. But I also sometimes work ten hour shifts which suck ass. Real life is terrible. Finally, ginormous thank you to Mrs_ZombieOctopus. I know I thank her a lot, but I really do mean it. I struggled so much with this, both with actually writing and my self esteem as I tried to get this finish. She encouraged and helped me so much. There were many low points, but she helped me out of them every time. I never would've finished this fic without her there. Thank you sweetie.  
> Now, finally, enjoy the punk/pastel au! :D

**Baz**

“Stop blowing smoke at me, Baz,” Dev grumbles.

“I’m not blowing at you,” I say plainly, “you’re just sitting downwind.”

“Then stop smoking.”

I take a deep drag and blow the fumes out slowly. Dev waves his hand as he glares at me. “Make me, cousin.”

Dev keeps glaring, but soon moves to my other side. I chuckle and offer him my Marlboro pack. He snatches it like a child grabbing a toy. Niall takes a stick as well.

This is our morning routine, now restarted with the new summer term. Sitting on the picnic bench under a tree, watching our school entrance, smoking like the cool teenage delinquents we think we are. Most people look at us for only a moment then scuttle away. The leather jackets and combat boots really up the intimidation factor. It’s the way I like it. Everyone fifteen feet away and properly scared of me. As they should be.

“Hey,” Niall says, “is that kid new? He doesn’t look familiar.” He points his cigarette towards the sea of kids at the entrance.

“Which one? Be specific, Niall,” I reply.

“The one with the pink sweater and practical fucking halo, that’s who.”

He points more insistently, and I look harder. Then I nearly drop my own cigarette.

At first, his back is to us, but then he turns, and I swear it’s in goddamn slow motion. Niall’s right. The light shines through his messy bronze curls, making them glow like a halo. His skin is another shade of gold and covered in freckles and moles. It looks like someone ripped the stars out of the sky and put them on his face. And his smile is so bright it’s like staring into the sun. The pastel pink sweater, faded cuffed jeans, and checkered Vans only help his angelically soft appearance. And his eyes, holy shit. They’re not even a typically interesting blue. Not cornflower or navy, not with a shot of hazel or violet. They’re just...blue. Yet, they’re perfect.

My pulse is beating in my ears. The world has narrowed down to just him I’m so enthralled that I don’t notice him looking back. He’s blinking in confusion, probably wondering why this leather jacket wearing punk is staring at him. But surprisingly, he doesn’t turn away like most people. He just keeps looking, big blue eyes roaming over me repeatedly. He’s not afraid. Not like everyone else knows they should be.

I used to be known for my careful decision making. But that’s been out the window for awhile. So I meet New Kid’s gaze from across the field, and unabashedly wink.

His entire tawny face goes bright red. He turns back to whoever he was speaking to, and is soon getting dragged into the Watford School building. I quickly see that it’s Penelope Bunce hauling him in. She glares at me viciously. I scoff. Bunce has always hated me, even before I became like this. We were academic rivals until last year. Now she probably thinks I’m just a bad influence on whoever she’s been contracted to welcome to our institue. And she’s probably right. Though, I wonder if her new friend would agree...

“Hm,” I say quietly, “new kid is cute.”

“Dude,” Dev sighs, “he’s like, a fucking bubbly sunshine Instagram model. You have literally zero chance.”

“Still cute.”

“You have the most masochistic taste in men, mate,” Niall unneededly interjects before taking a drag.

I take a drag myself, smirking around the smoke. “Don’t I know it.”

* * *

 

“Mr. Pitch,” Miss Possibelf says with utter exasperation, “I’m glad you’ve finally decided to join us.”

“Apologies, Miss,” I reply smoothly as I stroll into the room, twenty minutes late. “Traffic is an absolute nightmare today.”

She sighs, shaking her head. “Just take your seat please.”

I do as she says, taking the one empty desk pair. Dev and Niall aren’t here so I prefer to sit alone. I kick my feet up on the table, putting my arms behind my head. Miss Possibelf doesn’t look angry at me though, just...disappointed. I try to ignore the way that makes my gut twist. Miss Possibelf has been here for ages. She knew my mother. And out of all the teachers at Watford, she views me with the most sadness. I fucking hate it.

Miss continues her lesson. I have to make a stubborn effort not to listen, but it’s effective. I keep my eyes closed and mentally go over my violin practice, the calming music swimming through my brain with ease. I can practically see the see notes behind my eyes. It’s one of the few things I haven’t dropped since entering this “rebellious phase” as my father calls it. Besides, I probably already know what Miss Possibelf is talking about. I was very far ahead last year.

“Ah, hello, can I help you?” Miss Possibelf says.

“Uh, is this Miss Possibelf’s year 12 English?” A nervous, rough accented voice asks.

“Yes, it is. And you are?”

“I-I’m Simon. I’m new, and my schedule says I’m in here.”

“Oh, I’ve been expecting you. Come up here and introduce yourself please.”

There are quick steps moving towards the front of the class. New kid? Hm, Watford isn’t a very big school. And I would’ve noticed anyone else new. I wonder...

I let my eyes half open, and they immediately focus on a baby pink sweater. I open them all the way. He’s standing at the front, books in hand, smiling nervously. He looks like an adorable, broad shouldered, puppy.

“Uh, hi,” he says shakily, “my name is Simon Salisbury. I-I’m from Lancashire and I’ve just moved. Um, I like pop music and scones and old swords. And...yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

Miss nods politely. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Salisbury. Please take a seat. I’ll give you some catch-up work after class to make sure you’re up to speed.”

Miss Possibelf gestures to the room. But the thing is, the desk next to me is the only free space. Simon obviously notices, considering the way his eyes go wide and his cheeks go red. Miss Possibelf gives me a look that says, _“play nice, Basilton.”_ Please. I’m an arsehole, not a monster. And besides, Simon’s too pretty to mess with. Not in any permanently damaging way, that is.

I give Simon the biggest shit eating grin and wiggle my fingers. His face gets even more red. As if he can get any more adorable. He scurries towards me and takes the seat, but doesn’t look up. Poor nervous thing.

“Hello again,” I whisper, as Miss Possibelf has started lecturing again.

“H-Hi,” he replies in an equally hushed voice. “I’m Simon.”

“So you said before.”

“Oh oh, right. Uh, what’s your name?”

“Baz.”

“Huh, that’s a weird name.”

I let out a small scoff. “Gee, thanks.”

“Sorry!” He says hurriedly, picking at his sweater sleeve. “Sorry, I speak without thinking a lot.”

My mouth quickly forms into a half smile. I can’t help it. He’s too cute. “It’s alright. I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you.”

He flushes even more. “Okay, sounds good.”

“Basilton, stop distracting Mr. Salisbury,” Miss Possibelf sighs, back still turned.

“Will do, Miss,” I reply. I flick my eyes over to Simon and mouth _“sorry”_ with a smirk. He shrugs, smiling shyly as he mouths back _“it’s okay.”_

Simon looks back at the board, opening his notebook to take down Miss Possibelf’s loopy cursive writing. I close my eyes again. But I can't think of notes, only the pastel pretty boy right next to me. So every time I open them, I slide them over to Simon. He’s usually looking at the board, but a couple of times, he’s looking back. He always immediately looks away when our gazes meet. Hm, he’s even cuter up close. That may mean trouble for me. And I’ve come to quite enjoy trouble.

* * *

 

Leaving school is always bittersweet. For one thing, it means leaving a painful place, where too many bad things have happened. Things I would very much like to forget. But then I have to go home, a place where I am even more of a constant disappointment.

The only good thing is riding there.

My bike is parked just off school property because Watford has some stupid policy against motorcycles. Like that will stop me. I saunter over to it with my helmet in hand and inspect it for any damage  (Someone spray painted it once and I’ve been paranoid ever since.) But it’s perfect, still stupidly large and frighteningly black as ever. I run my hand over the cool, smooth metal. It's almost electric to my skin. And to think, I used to make fun of people obsessed with their mode of transportation.

I’m putting on my helmet when my eyes catch on someone specific for the third time today. He’s standing near the school entrance staring at me, again. His blue eyes are bigger than saucer plates. The motorcycle _is_ impressive to some, and I’m glad it’s impressive to him. I give Simon a little salute, then start the engine. It loudly roars to life. I take one last look at him as I speed away, smugly pleased at his awestruck expression.

Watford Cove, named for the small schoolhouse the town formed around and the shining ocean just to the west, is objectively beautiful. Lots of low roof fisherman’s houses, old forestry, and rolling green hills. It almost looks like a dream. And definitely looks like it belongs on a postcard. A cool breeze is almost always drifting off the water, so many of the richer folk built their houses on the hills, closer to the sun’s kinder, warming rays. My family's house falls into that category. And though I really do hate going home, the path there is as gorgeous as the rest of the town.

The straight streets turn into a winding road up our hill. I always challenge myself to see how low I can get to the ground each time. By now I can nearly kiss the concrete. I tilt so close the metal lets out a high pitched screech. My helmet hovers a few inches over the road. It’s the perfect mix of fear and excitement I like. At the top, the path becomes unpaved, dirty, and hidden by a canopy of tree trees. Wildflowers of every shade grow here too. Mother always loved the wildflowers. I try not to look, letting them just be colourful blurs as I race past.

Far too soon, I’m pulling up to the annoyingly big family mansion and parking my bike just behind the garage. Father prefers it to not be visible. He’s a true Brit; out of sight, out of mind. Sometimes I wish he used the same logic with me. It seems I’m always on his mind, unfortunately.

“Good afternoon, Basilton,” Vera says cheerily. She’s out watching my sisters as they play in our obscenely large yard. “How was school?”

I take off my helmet and run a hand over my sweaty hair. “Dreadful, as always.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, love. I guess this is a bad time to let you know that your father wants to see you. Apologies.”

I sigh. Father wants to discuss something with me. Must be a day that ends in a y. “It’s fine, Vera. Thank you for telling me.”

She nods, and her smile says, _good luck._ I nod back, because I might need it, even if I don't want it.

I walk into my father’s office with all the confidence he likely wishes I didn’t have. I don’t even bother to knock. The two of us are long past those sort of polite formalities. He’s sitting in his comfy leather chair, dressed in his suit. Because he’s the kind of man who casually wears tailored jet black suits at home. He doesn’t look up at me, of course.

“Good day, Father,” I say, not even trying to hide the annoyance in my voice. “Vera said you wanted to see me.”

“Yes,” he replies smoothly. “Please sit down, Basilton.”

I throw myself into the armchair, making sure it rattles loudly against the floor. Father finally lifts his eyes to meet mine. Though it’s not much of a reaction for most people, it’s as good as yelling for him.

He leans back, fingers laced in front of him. Seriously, could he be any more of a Bond villain? “We have something important to discuss, Basilton.”

“Is this about my bike again? Because I told you, I’m not getting rid of it. It’s a total bloke magnet.” His lips press together, and I try not to smile. In the past year, I’ve found great enjoyment in getting under his stupid, prejudiced skin. Especially with my sexuality.

“No, that’s not it. I received something in the mail today.”

“Oh? And why should I care?”

“Because, it was your report card from last term.”

Shit. I resist the urge to grip the armrests. I don’t want him to see how anxious that makes me. I don’t want to _be_ anxious. I don’t want to care at all about school or what he thinks.

“I see,” I drawl out. “Do you have an opinion or are you just informing me that it’s in your possession? If it’s the latter, you’re wasting my time.”

His lips tighten even more. I can tell he’s barely hanging onto his anger at me. I’m not sure if I should leave before the explosion or keep poking him to see how far I can get. He reaches into his desk and pulls out a small pack of stapled papers, dropping it on the desk. I recognise Watford’s letterhead, and my name of course. I try not to react to the series of Ds listed next to every class.

“You barely passed, Basil,” he says darkly. “A few points less and you would be repeating the term. Which is the same as the last few terms. I am... _beyond_ disappointed.”

I wave a finger around with a deadpan expression. “I’ll alert the presses. ‘Extra, extra, Malcolm Grimm finds another reason to be disappointed in his fairy son.’”

He slams his hands on the table and stands up. I jolt, because that’s the most I’ve seen him react to...anything. His face is still neutral though. That hardly ever changes. But I can see a few hairline cracks in his facade. The corner of his lip twitching, his brow pulling together slightly.

“This is not a joke, Basilton. This is your future. Ever since last year, you’ve been letting everything you’ve worked for fall apart.”

“And whose fault is that?” I hiss.

“ _Your’s.”_ He points a long accusatory finger at me. “You made the choice to disregard your schooling to be some delinquent. I was only pushing you to help you do better. But _you_ decided it was too much. And really Basil, what would your mother thi-”

It’s my turn to slam my hands on the table, which thankfully shuts him up. I meet his gaze unflinchingly. I hope he can see the fire in mine. “Don’t you use her,” I growl. “Don’t you _dare_ use her memory for your own selfish means. She deserves better treatment than that. And I don’t give a shit about school now because of _you._ So do not use her to fix your fuck up.”

He glares, but I glare back just as hard. We’re both equally stubborn bastards. And he can’t intimidate me any more. I refuse to let him have any power over me. Slowly, but surely, we both sit back down, eyes still locked and refusing to concede. He weaves his fingers again. I can see the tension in his knuckles very clearly.

“My point, Basil,” he says with cold emphasis, “is that I can’t tolerate this behaviour anymore. The defiance, the truancy, everything. I’ve given you plenty of warnings, which have all been ignored. So I’m giving you a final choice: get at least a B average this term, or I’m sending you to a boarding school for wayward boys for year 13, in Switzerland.”

I inhale sharply. My whole body goes cold. I have to keep myself from shaking with fear and rage. I run through every possible scenario, every hell I’ll be subjected to. The thought of being alone in a foreign country, with people I won’t know, with adults who will try to ‘get me in line’, scares the absolute living shit out of me. My father keeps looking at me with his bored expression, and I want to sock him in the jaw. Just to make him react like the real human he supposedly is.

“You cannot be serious,” I growl.

“Dead serious,” he says. “I hate to do this, Basilton, but you leave me no choice. Just try harder at school and it won’t happen.”

I push back the chair with flourish, nearly knocking it over so I can glare down at him. “Fuck you.”

He doesn’t respond, just keeps looking at me with stupid indifference. I sneer and walk away, slamming the door behind me very loudly. I hope it rattles his bookshelves and maybe a few fillings.

I keep stomping outside to my bike, then rev the engine loud enough so Father hears. I drive too fast with no destination in mind. Just flying down backroads and letting the world blur into nothing. Pretend it fades away like I wish it would.

Soon, I find myself at the top of Mount Olympus. At least that’s what Mother called it. It’s barely even a hill on top of our hill, really. But it’s the best place to see the stars. I park my bike near the bottom and stomp to the top. I stare out into the sunset, like the tragic hero I like to think I am, when really I'm just a mopey, pathetic teenager. I feel calmer here though. There are many good memories here. Ones I’d rather think about than what my father said.

I sit down, knees brought up to my chin and arms around my legs like a pouting child. Tears threaten to spill but I don’t let them. I haven’t cried in years, and I absolutely refuse to start now. I’m stronger nowadays, or at least I think I am.

So, I’ve got three months before I’m sent away for probably a very long time. Guess I’ll see how much Hell I can raise until then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked that first chapter. It mostly sets up the major parts of the story. Next time: Baz is at a new level of "fuck it", so what will he do now?
> 
> Chapter title is from "Summertime Sadness" by Lana Del Rey


	2. we belong way down below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz doesn't care anymore, and he's going to have a little fun before being shipped away. And there's a cute brunette just sitting right there in English class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the shortest chapters in the fic, so I wanted to get it out quickly. Hope ya'll like it :)

The nighttime is peaceful, especially on a deserted country road just out of time. I lean back on my handle bars, looking up at the stars, watching the twinkling distant lights. I still love stars. I love the way they shin in the endless darkness. Defiant against everything empty. But it’s hard to focus on their beauty when Dev is loudly gulping down liquor.

“Give me that bottle or pay the price, Dev,” I say. “You’re taking too much.”

“You’re driving,” he slurs out, like his tongue is too big for his mouth. He’s had more than me, and he’s a much bigger lightweight. I’ve seen him pass out after two glasses of wine at Christmas dinner. He’s going to have a wicked hangover tomorrow. And I will laugh at him mercilessly.

“Not really, you git. And I have a high tolerance. Give.”

Dev pouts and reluctantly hands over the vodka bottle. I lean back and take a deep swig, then try not to gag. It sets my entire throat on fire and feels like it's going to burn through my stomach. Christ, it’s terrible, terrible shite. But all three of us are cheap as fuck and refuse to pay for anything better. C'est la vie. I pass the bottle over to Niall.

“Can I have a turn on the bike?” Niall asks when he’s done, wiping stray drops of clear liquor off his lips.

“Are you going to crash it again?” I raise a singular brow to punctuate my point.

Niall groans and rolls his eyes. “That was one time a _year_ ago. Let it go, Basil.”

“I’ll let it go when you pay me back for the dent I had to fix.”

“It was just a fucking ding and you only had it fixed because you’re a vain motherfucker.”

I grin, wide and smug and dangerous. It's an expression that always gets my message across. “And? Your point?”

He rolls his eyes again even more dramatically. “A simple yes or no will suffice.”

Niall looks absolutely pathetic, pouting like a toddler. Maybe I'm more pissed than I realise, but I feel bad. I groan and get up. “Fine. Just don’t crash.”

It probably take's all of Niall's will power to not squeal like an overexcited fangirl. We easily trade places. I flop myself next to Dev, spread out on the grassy ground and still staring at the night sky. My stomach grumbles at me. I pull a mint aero bar out of my coat, because my sweet tooth always gets worse when I’m buzzed. Honestly, it’s a miracle I still have all my teeth, what with the amount of sugar I consume.

“Yo Baz! Think I can pop a wheelie?” I look up just in time to see Niall attempt the stunt. He fiercely pulls the handles back, but only gets an inch or two off the ground. His frown is as pathetic as it is hilarious.

“No,” I groan. “Let me show you.”

Tucking the chocolate back in my coat, I take my own motorbike back. Niall pouts and grumbles as he sits back with Dev. I rev the engine unnecessarily loud, letting it roar through the night, then race down the empty dirt street. With a sharp turn, I’m speeding back towards them. When I'm a few feet from Dev and Niall, I rear back. I lift onto one wheel, so close to falling off, but miraculously staying seated. God, I love the thrill of this. The risk, the danger, it rushes through my veins like fire, better than any booze. It makes me feel so alive. Which is scary and fucked up, but it’s sure as shit better than being cold and numb like I was before.

I’ll take reckless over dead inside any day.

“Whoo!” Dev cheers. “Nice, Baz!”

“I could’ve done that,” Niall grumbles.

I lower myself right in front of them and step off the bike gracefully with a smug grin. “Sure, mate. I believe you.”

I snatch the vodka, taking the final gulp in celebration. Just as I finish the bottle, a car passes by. The driver is some old white man with years worth of scowl lines. He takes one look at us, three teenagers wearing leather jackets with a motorcycle and an empty vodka bottle, and I know exactly what he’s thinking. It's written all over his stupid face.

“Hooligans!” he shouts as he speeds past.

Yup, typical. I snort, then look down at the bottle. Oh, I have a terrible idea. Without thinking about it any more, I throw the bottle in his car's direction. Not hard enough to actually hit the large truck, but just enough to smash behind it. The bottle shatters into a million tiny little shards. I like the way they sparkle in the moon and lamplight like stars.

“Fuck yeah we are!” I holler. Dev and Niall both laugh and whoop. I join them, my body feeling full and electric with sensation. And I try not to think about how my time here is limited. How by mid-July this will all be gone. Because my father is a bastard, and I refuse to bend to his will. An immovable object meets an unstoppable force. How stupidly, annoyingly poetic.

But I’m still here now. So I get on my bike, and bet Niall 10 quid that I can pop a wheelie for a straight minute without faltering.

* * *

 

I arrive to English class an hour late, even though my head is still pounding from my multiple poorly decided benders. But I’m bored and out of booze money. So I guess I'll go to school or whatever. It’s already quiet study time, everyone’s head down at their desks with their work. Miss Possibelf, sitting at her own, doesn’t even acknowledge my lateness anymore. There’s no point. I haven't shown up once for a whole week. Her pity and disappointment have certainly run out. I don’t blame her. I would be the same way.

Looking around, my gaze quickl catches on a wild mop of bronze curls next to an empty desk. I grin and stroll right over with no shame. Simon jumps slightly as I plant myself beside him. After only a second of shock, he smiles at me. It’s unbelievably kind. And considering he's only seen me three times before, I'm surprised by it. But I'm certainly not complaining.

“Oh, hello again,” he says softly.

“Hello, Simon,” I reply. “How was your first full week at Watford?”

He shrugs all the way up to his ears. “Eh, it’s school. How have you been? I haven’t seen you...”

I kick my feet up on the desk, eyes sliding closed. “Haven’t felt like coming lately. Just in the mood today.”

“Oh, uh, cool. Guess you can do that.”

I snort. “Hell yeah I can.”

Simon doesn’t answer for a minute. I crack open one eye, and see he’s back to his work, cute face twisted in concentration. I look him up and down. His t-shirt is pale blue today, and it brings out his eyes. His hoodie, draped over the chair behind him, is white with roses on the sleeves. Not my style, but it certainly works for his. Man, he really is pretty as fuck. I wish I could tell him.

Hm, well, I don’t have much time, so what the hell? Fuck it.

“You’re cute,” I whisper.

Simon’s head snaps up so fast his curls bounce back and forth. He clutches his pen so hard I fear it might break. He flushes all the way down his freckled neck. His head slowly turns to me, blue eyes wide and perfect lips slightly parted.

“Huh?” he replies.

“I said:” I put my feet down and lean in closer to him. Not enough to make him uncomfortable, but enough that I can count the moles on his face. (Three on his right cheek, two below his left ear, and one under his left eye.) “You. Are. Cute.”

He blinks rapidly, obviously processing my words. “O-Oh. Okay. Sorry. I, uh, I thought I misheard.”

“Nope. Definitely not.”

He fiddles with his cheap ballpoint, chewing on his lip corner furiously. “Are you just like, being nice?”

I chuckle and shake my head. “No, I’m being gay. As in I’m a guy who finds other guys attractive. Guys like you. Wanted to let you know.”

If I thought Simon’s blush was bad before, it’s insane now. His entire face is bright, vibrant scarlet. “I-I see. I, um, I...thank you. That’s r-really...cool.”

He turns back down at his work, looking very embarrassed. Wow, he’s not great with words, I see. But his stuttering is kind of cute too. I grin widely at him, leaning my chin on my palm. “You’re quite welcome. Anytime, really.”

He chuckles nervously, still focusing on his work. His blush doesn't go away fully though. It’s stays at the tips of his ears for the rest of class. I go back to my 'I'm totally bored' position; feet-on-desk, leaning-back-on-chair, eyes closed. But every once in awhile, I let my gaze linger on Simon. He's gorgeous, and soon I may not see him again for awhile. So I savour every glance I can get. And every once in awhile, I notice his blue eyes flick towards me, and the blush gets worse again for a moment. But there's also a small smile playing on his mouth. I certainly don't leave that unnoticed.

When the bell rings, Simon quickly gathers his stuff and throws on his white hoodie. “N-Nice seeing you, Baz,” he stutters out sweetly.

I grin, then wink at him just like I did last week. He grips knapsack strap tighter. “Likewise, Salisbury. Let’s do this, again, hm?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, okay. See you.”

He turns on his heels and walks away. I simply watch him go before I leave as well. Maybe I should come to English more often.

* * *

 

Once school is over, Dev texts me asking if I want to go tag some industrial warehouses near the shore. He even sends a picture of his spray paint. Just as I'm about to reply, something knocks my bike. It wobbles back and forth before I thankfully catch it. “What the fu-"

“Hello, Pitch.”

I know that voice, smug and cutting. I turn my head slowly. She’s short, with frizzy dyed red hair and winged glasses. Her arms are crossed over her chest as she scowls at me. Despite her smaller stature, her aura is large and intimidating. Even to me. I try to keep my face as neutral as possible.

“Hello, Bunce,” I say smoothly. “May I help you?”

“Yes, actually.” She puts her hands on her hips and shoves her face at mine. I repress the urge to lean back. “Stay the fuck away from Simon.”

I cock a brow. She seems very serious, scowling with her brows knitted together. “Hm, I see. Simon can’t vocalise this desire himself because...?”

“Because he’s an impressionable new kid who thinks you’re some cool, hot shot bad boy. But I know who you really are, Basilton. A total fuck up with more issues than the bloody Spectator.” I flinch slightly. I can’t help it. It’s never pleasant to be reminded you’re a complete screw up. Bunce pushes her face even closer. “Simon doesn’t need your problems on top of his own. So just leave him _alone_.”

His own problems, huh? So blushy, beautiful Instagram model isn’t totally perfect. There’s something darker lurking underneath all that pastel. Intriguing. The academic in me wants to investigate, analyze, and categorize findings. Though I’ve been told it’s impolite to view a person like a historical text.

I scoff as uncaringly as I can. “You’re not his babysitter, Bunce. If Simon wants me to stay away from him, he can tell me so _himself_. Until then, we’ll continue having our pleasant discussions.”

Bunce scowls even harder. “You’re a right royal bastard, Basilton Pitch.”

“Duh. Keep up, Bunce.” I get on my bike and buckle my helmet in place. I meet Bunce’s glare with my own. “Besides, you’re not going to have to worry about me for much longer. Just let me have my fun while I can.”

“What the hell is that supposed to me-”

I rev my engine, and Bunce’s word are completely drowned out. I speed off down the road.

Part of me, the not-bastard part, wonders if she’s right. Maybe I’m being cruel, flirting with Simon like this when I know what a disaster I am. When I know I’m going to leave. It’s just flirting though. Nothing real. It's not like I'm asking him to the bloody formal. It's just some fun. Still, something doesn’t sit very well in my gut....

So I drive fast and nearly kiss the concrete on turns. And the hard feelings are scraped away at along with the metal hitting rock. Then I call Dev and tell him I'm in for tagging, and he better also bring some whiskey. Yes, that's the solution I can forget about this and everything else easier when my brain is buzzed with liquor. I learned that method when I first figured out I was gay at 15. It’s useful little trick when you want to ignore your own emotions.

No wonder Bunce wants me to stay away from Simon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I thought about combining all this with chapter 1, but in the end I felt this needed to be it's own chapter. I wanted a specific part dedicated to Baz going off the rails, which inevitably leads him to Simon. (Maybe some poor decisions have good outcomes, hm? ;) )And the next chapter starts a new plot line so that needs to be separate. Sorry if this doesn't feel like enough. I promise more happens in the next chapter, and now that I'm only working part time, I'll be able to get that out sooner :D Hope you enjoyed this. Until next time!
> 
> Chapter title comes from "Heaven Knows" by The Pretty Reckless


	3. in the corner of my lovesick mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> English midterm projects are starting, and two people are left without a partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh what an ominous summary. I do wonder what will happen :))))) I promised more would happen this chapter, and tbh I personally think more happens, but I hope this is enough for y'all. It's still short but I think it's interesting. I may be a bit biased though. I did write it lol.

English is now the only class I attend regularly. Not for the lessons, of course. But for a particular sunshine boy who I _always_ make sure to sit next to.

We don’t actually talk that much. Simon’s not one for conversation as I’ve learned. I pay him a compliment and he usually stutters out a thank you. Sometimes he says hi, I say hello back and ask him how he is, he replies 'fine', then that's it. Mostly, I sit beside him and sneak looks between ignoring the curriculum. Sometimes, he catches my gaze, and gives a flush faced grin with a little wave before going back to his notes. It's a certainly fun little flirtation, something to distract me from my impending doom. Our classmates occasionally give me weird looks, probably thinking I'm some predatory gay stalker. But Simon doesn't seem to mind. Quite the opposite, really. Despite his lack of eloquence, he always greets me when I come in, always smiles and blushes in my presence. God, what an adorable little shit.

“Now,” Miss Possibelf announces, “we’re almost a month into term, and it’s time to assign midterm projects.” Everyone groans. “Don’t be like that, it’s not very hard. You’ll do a ten minute presentation on a chosen text, and an artistic aspect must be included. To make it a bit easier, you will work in pairs. I’ll give you a few minutes to work that out.”

Everyone is up like a shot. Friends scrambling to find other friends, shouting loudly about what book they want to do. I even hear Simon quietly get up. I stay put though, eyes still closed. Dev and Niall aren’t in this class, and there’s an odd number students, so I’ll end up working alone. I don’t mind. I don’t plan on doing that much work. Might as well not drag anyone down with me.

“Basilton, do you have a partner?” Miss Possibelf calls once the initial chatter has died down.

“No,” I say flatly.

“Well, in that case, you can work with Simon.”

My eyes snap open and dart to the left. Simon is just as sitting down. He's fidgeting like mad with his yellow sunflower shirt, gaze staring right at the ground. His face is red, but it's certainly more from genuine embarrassment, not the cute way he flushes with me. He looks ashamed, almost sad. Poor guy. I actually feel, sort of bad for him, something I haven’t felt for someone in awhile.

“No no, it’s fine,” Simon says, rubbing his t-shirt hem nervously. (It brings out the gold in his skin.) (Shit, not important right now, focus, Basil!) “I can work fine on my own. I don’t need to be paired up.” From the way he says ‘paired up’, I get the feeling Simon doesn’t like being the charity case. I don’t blame him. Neither do I.

“No, this is supposed to be a pair project, and you two are the only ones left. So you’ll work together. Okay?”

Shit, I forgot. Simon makes the class even. And her firm voice makes it clear that there isn’t any real choice in this matter.

“Very well,” I sigh.

“Okay,” Simon whispers.

“Good. Figure out which book you want to do.”

I look at Simon, who is still looking very intensely at the floor. I cross my arms on the desk and lean towards him.

“So,” I say, “what book should we do?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” he replies with a shrug. “You got any ideas?”

“I haven’t been paying attention in class. You probably know more than me, darling.”

His eyes pop out at the word “darling”. I notice him bite back a little smile. He shrugs again. He does that quite a bit. “Well, I’m sort of interested in ‘Watership Down’. I like rabbits.”

Well, it’s not really about rabbits. It’s about different forms of leadership, destruction of homes, sacrificing dignity for safety, faith in-

“Yeah,” I say, “rabbits are cool. I can live with Watership Down.”

Simon grins, and I can feel my heart fucking skip a beat. It's just a little bit, the smallest jump, but still, it's there. Jesus, what am I getting myself into? “Awesome! I’ll read it as quickly as I can, yeah?”

“I’ll try. If I want.” I don’t tell him that I’ve already read Watership Down five times. I have a reputation to maintain, especially with him. His brows pull together in adorable confusion.

“Oh, uh, okay. You wanna meet at the end of the week after school to figure out what we want to do?”

“I can do that. Especially if you’re wearing that shirt again. It’s rather fetching.”

He pulls at the shirt hem again, smiling shyly. “Thanks. I’ll, uh, think about it.”

The bell rings. I stand up along with everyone else, hands in my leather jacket pockets. Simon gets up hastily, nearly knocking the chair over. He looks me in the eyes but only for a second. The floor is apparently easier to stare at.

“Meet in the library after class on Friday, yeah?” he asks quickly.

“Yeah,” I reply with a smirk in my voice. “I’ll be there.”

* * *

 

I haven’t been in the school library in over a year, but it hasn’t really changed. It still has tall shelves over filled with books and shitty carpets. I remember playing among the stacks while my mother was revamping the filing system. It’s a nice memory, but it leaves a somewhat sour taste in my mouth now.

Simon is sitting at one of the big oak tables. He’s wearing the sunflower t-shirt again. I take a second to admire the way the sunlight catches in his bronze curls, making them practically sparkle gold. But only for a second. Then I walk over to him with as much confidence as I can.

“Good afternoon, Salisbury,” I say smoothly.

His head snaps up and he blinks his big blue eyes at me. A cheery smile pulls across his mouth.

“Hey, Baz,” he chirps. “How’s your week been?”

Huh, he seems genuinely interested. Weird. No one has ever asked me that question and not been sarcastic. I plant myself in the chair next to him, arm draped lazily over the back. “Skipped class, got pissed, drove my motorcycle. You know, the usual. Your’s?”

“Oh, uh, sounds fun.” He’s not berating per se, just confused. Which is probably the nicest response anyone has ever had to that statement. “And it’s been good. Penny’s been helping me with classes. Still sorta catching up on stuff.”

“After a month?” The words fly off my sharp tongue before I realise it. Fuck, I really can’t help but be an arsehole, can I?

Simon shrugs. “Y-Yeah. Stuff...happened at my last school and I've always been behind. But I’m more caught up now. Yeah.” He coughs nervously. I'm about to apologize when he pulls out his binder and cuts me off. “Well, anyway, what should we do for our project? We gotta, like, talk about the book right?”

He’s correct, but that’s a bit simplistic. We’re actually specifically supposed pick out the four major themes as well as analyze it through a Freudian lens then- Fucking hell, I’m being a nerd again. Ugh, stop it, Basilton.

“Yeah, and present it to class in a slide show. So what do you want to talk about?”

“Oh, um...” Simon starts flipping through his notes furiously. They’re all written in such chicken scratch I can’t read a word. “I-I don’t know. I’ve only read a few chapters so far, but I watched the movie. It’s really fucked up, y’know. I didn’t know bunnies could be so violent.”

I chuckle, because I know what he means. I watched it when I was only seven. A terrible idea. “That movie _is_ quite frightening. Certainly shouldn’t be marketed as a children’s film, what with all that blood.”

Simon giggles. It’s absolutely adorable. “Yeah, agreed.” He looks at his notes again. “So, like, I guess we should talk about Hazel first? Cause he’s, y’know, the leader and stuff.”

Once again, simple but correct. He’s obviously grasping the major concepts of the story, just not more of the nuances. Okay, I can work with that.

“Yeah, sounds good” I look disinterestedly at my black painted nails, because I want him to think I don’t care. Maintain my whole badass, 'fuck everything' reputation and all.

“Alright then. Oh!” He looks at me with the biggest grin. “For the art part, I was thinking I could take pictures of places that look like the places in the book then draw them. I've got a sketchbook and camera and stuff” I look at him curiously, but he obviously thinks it’s derogatory from the the way he looks down ashamed. “I just, I love drawing even if I’m not that great. It’s just an idea though, sorry.”

How can someone think so little of himself? That his interests are so unimportant? I lean closer, almost touching his hand but not quite. I’m not _that_ confident, or creepy. “No, I like that idea. I’m not artistically inclined at all, so whatever you do will be a thousand times better than me, I promise.”

Wow, I think that’s the nicest thing I’ve said in ages to...anyone. What on earth is wrong with me today? Simon smiles softly, and I can’t help but notice that his ears are tinged pink. My stomach stirs slightly. But I try to ignore it.

“Okay, awesome. We could, uh, meet up and find stuff for me to draw. I’ve got a camera. Maybe next weekend, before the break?”

“Sure. I can pencil you in.” I punctuate my words with a wink. I still really enjoy the way he blushes when I do that.

“Great! We’ll read more of the book until then, I guess. And, I’ll see you next class?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” I stand up, sticking my hands in my jacket. Simon follows with his books all in his strong arms. “I’ll see you then, Simon.”

He smiles at the ground as she tucks a piece of hair behind his ear, as if he could be any more of an adorable blushing school boy. “Y-Yeah, see you, Baz.”

He walks off, but I swear he’s almost skipping. Christ, where’s his bloody daisy field? I turn and walk in the other direction. I hate to admit it, but I have to stop myself from skipping a bit as well. Fucking hell, something is definitely wrong with me.

* * *

 

“Stop staring,” Niall grumbles through his stupid sandwich lunch.

I whip around to face him, eyes narrowed. “I’m not staring.”

“Stop lying, Baz, of course you are. You can’t take your fucking eyes off him.”

That’s not exactly true. I do look away from him every once in awhile, but that’s only because I don’t want to seem pathetic. Which...I think I might be, considering that I can’t stop my eyes from drifting to him. It’s not on purpose now. It’s turning into a bloody compulsion.

“Not true,” I grumble, taking a drag from my cigarette, creating a comforting numbness in my body. Hooray for nicotine addiction.

“Very true,” Dev chimes in. “And I’ve heard you flirt with him non-stop in English class. Seriously mate, you’ve got it bad.”

“Got what bad? A headache from your incessant nagging?”

“Actually, I meant this amazing new emotion called ‘affection’. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

I flick cigarette ash at him but not hard enough to actually hit him, just the part of the picnic bench in front of him. He frowns and brushes it away.

“Someone can’t deal with his feelings,” Niall sing songs to Dev.  Dev nods with a pitying expression. I take a drag, and this time blow it in their faces. They cough and glare. I grin. Revenge is a dish best served smoking.

I twist myself back around to face the large tree far away. Simon is sitting under it with Bunce. Luckily Bunce has her back to me. Otherwise I’d be receiving some very intense death glares. Simon is eating his a sandwich, smiling between bites, occasionally laughing at whatever Bunce is saying. He hasn’t noticed me yet, thankfully. I'm already way too stalker-ish with him. He’s dressed in a pale purple button down today, and with matching nail varnish, making him probably the only guy in Watford besides myself who wears nail varnish. That’s admirable, and very cute. Why does he always have to be so goddamn cute?

“You know you've got no shot with him, right?” Dev unneededly interjects.

I sigh, letting out a long plume of smoke. “Of course. I'm not an idiot.”

“Then why won’t you stop staring at him?”

Because I won’t get to do this with anyone much longer, and I want to savour my freedom while I have it. And he's a very pretty slice of freedom right now. “Because, I like looking at him. He’s hot. Am I not allowed to admire?”

Niall sighs, and I await more arsehole comments. “It’s just, I don’t want to see you get your heart broken, mate.”

I tense slightly. Fuck, didn’t expect that. We’re such dickheads to each other all the time that I occasionally forget we can be nice. That we can show our caring in something other than sarcasm. I turn to face them again. They both look quite concerned. Wonderful bastards.

“Guys,” I sigh, “I promise you, it’s fine. I’m just flirting. I don’t expect anything serious from him. It’s fun. And I told you, I really need fun right now.”

“Why?” Dev says between bites. “You’ve been saying that but you haven’t given us a reason.”

I fiddle with the hem of my Sex Pistols shirt with one hand, rolling the stitches slowly between my fingers. He’s right, I haven’t given them a reason. I don’t want our last months together to be spent worrying about what will happen when I leave. And I still don’t.

“Just want to make this place a little more tolerable so I can survive until summer break,” I say nonchalantly.

They look at me curiously for a second, but my calm expression doesn’t falter. Years of practising my father's mannerisms in the mirror has made me very good at this. Eventually, they shrug and go back to their food. I feel sort of bad about lying to them, but I also don’t want them to worry. Worrying won’t do any of us any good.

I go back to gazing at Salisbury. But to my utter and slightly pleasant shock, Simon is finally looking back. He looks confused for a second, but then smiles, big and filled with teeth. He waves grandly. Hm, that’s not his usual shy response. Though...I like it a bit better. I salute back with my cigarette hand. He keeps grinning. I wouldn't mind looking at him for quite awhile honestly.

But of course, that’s when Bunce turns around. She glares viciously at me, seemingly trying to murder me with just her eyes. I sigh and resign to looking at a tree to my left. Ugh, fucking Penelope Bunce, ruining my fun. After a few minutes, my gaze inevitably wanders back to Simon. And he’s looking as well. Both of us have a small, subtle smile. My heart is beating far too fast for my comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm, so many questions here. Why is Simon so not confident in himself? What happened to him before Watford? Does Baz have The Real Feelings for Simon? And does he even know how to deal with those without alcohol and driving fast? Well, y'all will just have to wait and see how this all plays out. Hope you enjoyed this, see ya next time :)
> 
> Chapter title is from "Ease My Mind" by Hayley Kiyoko


	4. you might kill me with desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Baz are starting on their project, giving them more time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have y'all picked up on what I'm doing with the chapter titles? Idk if I'm super clever or not lol. It's just fun. Though finding good lyrics was hard. Thanks to Mrs_ZombieOctopus for the pastel songs because most of my music library is punk/pop punk/emo rock haha. Anywho, enjoy! :D

Simon is late, and I’m fucking bored. And boiling. I’m out of cigarettes, my phone is dead, and I'm wearing a leather jacket on a 30 degree day. This is why normal people don’t wear black in summer. But I’m the special kind of idiot who picks badass fashion over comfort. So I just suffer in silence with my head tilted back over the park bench. Salisbury better show up soon.

“Baz! Baz!”

My head snaps up. Simon running towards me, his curls bouncing with every step. A large camera swings from his neck. He stops a few metres in front of me, hands on his knees, breathing heavily.

“Sorry,” he pants, “sorry I’m late. Couldn’t find...camera. Stupid...moving boxes.” He stands up straight and puts his hands on his back like an old man. “Christ, it’s so hot.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Then take off that lovely hoodie, Salisbury.”

He smiles, tucking his hair behind his ear. I really do like when he does that. It’s adorable. “I guess. I got dressed in a hurry and grabbed it without thinking.”

He unzips the rose sweater quickly to reveal a...dark grey long sleeve. Huh. Not his usual style. But it’s also very wrinkled, like it’s been stored away for awhile. So not well used. Maybe it’s laundry day.

“Now,” he says as he holds up the camera, “let’s find some bunny homes.”

I sigh and stand up, hands in my jean pockets. “I doubt there are any rabbit burrows in a public park, Simon.”

He shrugs. “Well, we might as well look.”

Simon marches off with determination in his step. I follow behind, pretending I don’t care. It’s actually a lot harder to do than people would think. We all naturally want to be entertained. I still look for something to amuse me. Trees and birds and nature are boring though. So I let my gaze fall to Simon every once in awhile instead. He’s certainly never boring to look at, even out of his usual pastel attire.

“How about that hill? Does that look like Watership Down?” He points to a small green mound in the near distance. It has few trees and some lovely flowers. It’s somewhere bunnies may live.

“Yeah,” I say, “it looks pretty close. Though we don’t get too many explicit descriptions of Watership Down in the book other than that it’s a hill and a good place to live.”

Simon spins around, a big smile on his pretty face. “So you’ve read more of it? Oh that’s good! Do you like it?”

Crap, what a stupid slip up. What the fuck? I’m usually more careful. I look away in hope it will hide my nervousness. “Yeah, I’ve read a bit. It’s alright.” (I actually think it’s brilliant.)

“Yay! It’s good when you enjoy a project.”

I smirk, seeing the opportunity offered up to me on a silver platter. “Well, I prefer the extra time with you far more than the book,” I say in my slickest voice.

He inhales sharply, but quickly smiles, doing that adorable hair tuck again. “Well, um, thanks. I-I enjoy time with you as well.”

Oh. That catches me off guard a bit. It really shouldn't. He smiles and blushes and greets me in English. Still though, he just explicitly said he likes spending time with me. That does something strange in my gut.

“Well, then I’m glad we’re doing this project together,” I say, thankfully without the nervous timbre I have to consciously suppress.

“Me too,” he replies, voice just above a whisper.

I have no answer to that, and Simon seems to understand. He raises his camera to finally start taking pictures. He snaps a few shots before moving to a different artsy angle. Seems like he’s got experience with this. And I’m just standing here like an idiot, I suppose. I'm still bored. Maybe I could have a little fun.

On his next shot, I leap in front with my arms spread out and a stupid expression on my face. Of course, I fall on the ground quite quickly. Simon bursts out laughing. Holy shit, how can one sound be so strange, melodious, and amazing all at the same time?

“Baz!” he shouts through his sputtering giggles. “You ruined the shot!”

I fell quite ungracefully on my side. To aleve some embarrassment (and keep Simon laughing), I pose purposefully, head propped up on my hand and one leg bent like some fifties pin up model. Today is a day for ridiculousness I suppose. “Eh, worth it.”

Simon keeps giggling, almost doubled over. The corners of his eyes wrinkle with his big, laughing grin. He looks pretty. No, beautiful would be more accurate. He’s so fucking beautiful-

“Get the fuck up, you little pisser!”

The gruff but young voice carries from somewhere near us. Simon immediately straightens up, head whipping around in search of the source. I get to my feet quickly. A loud, pained cry rings out. Simon focuses on something to his left. I look as well, and my blood goes cold.

Barely behind some trees, there’s a pair of hulking boys standing over someone smaller. Poor thing is curled up in ball, trying to protect his face and vital organs as best he can. One of the young stupid giants kicks his legs, but he doesn’t cry out again. He just flinches and squeezes his eyes shut. I can tell he’s just waiting for it to be over.

“Fuck,” I say, “we better go get-”

“Hold this,” Simon growls, shoving the camera at me. His face is pulled into a deep scowl. Holy crap. This is the first time I’ve seen him angry. There’s a fire in his blue eyes that’s never been there before. He stomps over to them with clenched fists.

“Oi!” He bellows to the group, making them all turn around. “Get the fuck away from him right now!”

One of the boys rolls his eyes and flashes a malicious chipped tooth smile. “Or what?”

“Or this.” And Simon swings a fierce right hook.

“Simon!” I shout, running towards him. But soon I slow down. Because...huh, Simon’s actually holding his own pretty well. The boy punches back, but Simon blocks him with his forearms. Wow, he’s incredible, and quite fast. Every punch they throw, he dodges swiftly, then counters with his own heavy swings and kicks. He gets Guy 1 in the jaw again, then Guy 2 in the stomach with his knee, then they’re both on their arses with a leg sweep. Simon looms over them with hands on his hips.

“You done now?” he yells at them. They nod rapidly, already trying to wipe away the blood off their faces. “Good. Get the hell out of here.”

The two of them scrabble up and dash away. Simon stays strong for a few more seconds, but I watch as he slumps forward, letting out long deep breaths as his arms fall. He turns and makes his way to the boy on the ground and easily offers his hand. The boy takes it.

“Hey,” he says, his voice back to it’s normal softness. “You alright, yeah?” The boy nods in disbelief. Simon grins. “Awesome. I’m Simon, by the way.”

“I’m Gareth,” he replies.

“Hi, Gareth. Hope those bastards don’t bother you again.”

“I think you scared them off, dude.”

Simon chuckles, shaking his head. “Eh, they were pretty cowardly anyway. You still got pretty banged up. Need me to take you to A&E?”

"Nah, I'm okay. I'll just go home. Um, thank you. Bye Simon. ”

"Bye!” Simon waves him with his whole arm. Gareth waves back weakly, walking away with only a slight limp. I imagine he’d be much worse if Simon hadn’t intervened. But Simon did. He did what no one else would do. What I wouldn’t do.

Simon sighs and turns towards me, smiling like nothing just happened. But I’m fucking gaping. His brow furrows in genuine confusion.

“What?” He asks like it’s nothing.

“Um, what the hell was that?!” My tone sounds more angry than I mean it to be. Really, I’m just shocked. Simon shrinks away slightly and I feel absolutely terrible.

“Sorry sorry,” Simon says rapidly, pulling at his shirt sleeve. “Sorry, I just saw him and I couldn’t stop myself. I just, I needed to help. But it was stupid and impulsive and I’m sorry.”

“No no, Simon stop.” I step forward so he can see my face clearly. “Stop apologizing, I’m not cross. I’m just...where on Earth did you learn to fight like that?”

He looks down at the ground and rubs his neck. “I don’t know, around and stuff.”

It’s obvious he doesn’t want to say anymore, and I honestly don’t want to push him. He’s had enough excitement today. “Well, I’m astounded. That was absolutely incredible.”

Simon blushes, chuckling slightly. “T-Thanks.”

I laugh too, more genuinely than I have in awhile. Without thinking, I clap a hand on his shoulder like I do to Dev sometimes. He immediately stops laughing. His eyes widen and the blush creeps down his neck. I inhale sharply. Shit, didn’t mean to do that. I pull my hand back quickly, straightening up and clearing my throat. We both take large steps back, putting a respectful distance between us. But my heart still won’t slow down.

“Think we need more pictures?” Simon blurts out.

“Well,” I say firmly, “I think that’s up to you. Got enough for drawing?”

“Um, maybe a few more somewhere else. I was thinking I’d do at least three drawings. Good round number yeah?”

“Agreed. Here, you might want this back.” I lift the camera off from around my neck. Simon takes it. Our hands brush for a second, and my pulse spikes. Fuck, this is a really bad idea. I have to go, I should-

“So during the break,” Simon says, distractedly fiddling with his hoodie sleeve, “want to come over to my place to work on the presentation? Or go to your’s? We should have it mostly done before school starts again.”

His blue eyes are big and open, smile slight and adorable. My pulse is stuttering, my palms are sweating. Shit, this is bad. This is not what I thought I signed up for. There’s something new pooling in my gut now. Something I don’t fully understand. But...I don’t want to let it go. Not just yet.

“Yeah, that’s smart,” I reply. “How about you come to mine on Tuesday?”

Simon nods quickly. “Yeah, sure that’d be great. Come over to my place on Friday?”

“That’s fine with me.”

“Awesome! Great, that’s great.”

He does that slight skip again further into the park. I follow behind, hands in pockets, digging my nails into my palms in a futile attempt to keep my composure. Fuck. Pretty sure I’m officially screwed.

* * *

 

I’m playing violin in the library. I like to practice in here. My siblings aren’t allowed in and I can look out at the garden. I like to practice, period. I’m good at the violin. I’ve dropped many of the things I’m good at over the past year, but not this. It calms me, lets me think. And right now it’s distracting me from the fact that a certain bronze haired boy is coming over at any moment. (Though he should’ve been here half an hour ago.) My blood is pumping so violently I can hear it over the violin.

I really shouldn’t be doing this. He’s just a cute bloke. I don't  _actually_ like him. I can't! Well, I shouldn’t at least. I know how toxic I am, and I know I’m leaving. Simon deserves better than that. I need to leave him alone. I need-

“Baz! Your friend is here!” Vera’s voice carries up through the staircase. I’m ashamed of how my hand jolts from excitement.

“Coming!” I yell in reply. After putting away my violin away, I have to make an effort not to run like an overeager teenager.

I descend the old stairs just in time to see Simon struggling with his trainers. He's jumping on one foot while his giant floral knapsack nearly makes him topple over. His cuffed jeans and striped pink shirt have streaks of mud on them. There’s branches and leaves in his shining hair. My lips quirks. God, what an adorable idiot.

“Try loosening the laces more, Salisbury,” I say teasingly.

His head snaps up, and his smile goes all the way to his ears. “Hey! Sorry I’m late. Your house is a bit hard to get to by foot.”

“Why do you think I drive a motorbike everywhere?”

He shrugs. “To look cool?”

I can’t help but smile. He's got a point. “Well, that’s an added bonus, I suppose. C’mon, let’s go upstairs.”

I turn around and hear Simon follow. I wish my house wasn’t so stupidly posh. It’s completely ridiculous. There’s nothing even “homey” about it, really. No family pictures, no funny little knick knacks, no decorations that aren’t over a hundred years old. A year ago, I was looking forward to moving out for college I could get away from all this. That’s a dead dream now. Switzerland might be better, though I doubt it.

“Your house is so cool,” Simon says under his breath. “And a bit creepy.”

“Don’t I know it,” I grumble. “This is my room.

My room used to be quite pristine, but now it’s a terrible mess. The dresser is covered in old cigarette packs and spilled black nail polish. The floor is basically my cupboard now, what with all my clothes spread around it. I even managed to get some band posters up with berating from my father. Not that he would’ve stopped me. (If aunt Fiona could do it, so can I.)

“Jeez,” Simon chuckles.

I whip my head around, eyes narrowed in suspiscion. “What?”

“You dress like your room.”

I would be annoyed, but his cheeky grin is too adorable to be mad at. So I just roll my eyes with a smirk. “I like black and rock bands, sue me.”

“I won’t, but Sid Vicious might for copyright infringement.”

He’s still grinning. I glare, and he just smiles more. How did I end up hanging around with snarky sunshine incarnate? It baffles and amazes me.

“Come along Salisbury, you probably want to actually do some work.”

“Oh yeah!”

He rushes over to my desk and sits down before I do. I sit like I do in class, feet up on the table and head tilted back. Simon doesn’t notice. He’s babbling as he runs through his notes. I’m not really listening. Frankly, I’m too distracted by his waving hands, and his blue eyes, and his mouth. Mostly his mouth. How it moves, how it would feel on mine...

“So is that good with you, Baz?”

I’m snapped out of my trance. Simon is looking at me with utterly adorable confusion. “Yeah, that’s fine with me.”

“Awesome! I started one of the drawings, but I’m not sure what to do for the other two. Any ideas?” He pulls out his phone, (it’s pink with flowers on it, of course), and starts flipping through photos. Some are from our park excursion, others are from the internet. He swipes too quickly for me to really see well. But one catches my eye.

“Wait, stop,” I say. He does, thankfully. I swipe back a few photos then stop. “This one. You should draw this one, if you can.”

It’s a nice photo of a rabbit, and it coincidentally looks just like Fiver. I’m not sure where he found it but it’s perfect.

“Really?” He says, squinting at the picture.

“Yes. I think it looks like Fiver, don’t you?”

His eyes widen as he nods. “Uh, yeah, I guess so. I didn’t really see it but yeah. Do you like Fiver?”

I shrug. “Eh, he’s sort of weird.” Fiver is actually my favourite character.

“Huh, I like him. He’s the tragic prophet, y’know? Sees everything that’s going to happen but can’t do much about it, and most people don’t believe him. That’s what happens to a lot of people who see what’s coming.”

Oh, wow. I blink rapidly at him. My brain takes a few seconds to catch up. “That’s...really eloquent, and accurate. I’m impressed, Salisbury.”

Simon smiles shyly, doing the hair tuck I love. “T-Thanks. Penny’s been helping me gather some of my thoughts about the book. I have all these ideas but I just don’t know how to make them into...words and stuff. Sorry, that’s dumb.”

“No no, that’s fine.” I reach forward, and before I know it, I’m putting my hand on his shoulder again. He tenses and my stomach drops out. I immediately pull away and look in the other direction. Fuck, my urge to touch him is getting out of control. I need to manage it. But, part of me really doesn't want to.

“So, uh,” he says quietly, “I’ll start on the presentation and show it to you on Friday, okay?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” I’m pretending I’m super interested in my nails instead of his face.

“Awesome. Anything else we need to discuss?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Huh, this didn’t take long,” he chuckles. “I guess I should, uh, get going. My ride isn’t here for another half hour so I’ll walk.” He starts getting up, and my heart is screaming at me to not let him leave. _Not yet,_ it says, _you don’t have much time left. Don’t let him go!_

“You want to hang out for a bit?” I blurt out. Simon freezes where he is. Slowly, his saucer plate big eyes look up at me.

“Oh, sure. I-I’d like that.”

Be still, my beating heart. “You want to watch some Netflixs? Or music videos?”

“Yeah sure!” He bounces over to my bed and plops himself down on it. Fuck, I nearly faint. Because a beautiful boy is sitting right there on my _bed_. I have to suppress every dirty thought imaginable. How I want to push him and press my lips to his neck and bite his skin and move down lower to-

“Uh, are you coming over, Baz?”

I shake the disturbed notions out of my head and pick up my laptop. “Yeah, yeah.”

I walk over, kicking clothes in my wake. Simon leans over with narrowed eyes. “What is it, Simon?”

“Do you own any clothes that aren’t black?”

I scoff with a smile. “Do _you_ own anything that isn’t bright and covered in flowers?”

He shrugs, fiddling with his trouser seam. “Well, I try not to. It’s what I like.”

“Exactly.” I sit next to him, a safe foot and a half between us. “And I like all black. Makes me feel like a sexy badass.”

“It works,” Simon says under his breath, so quietly I know I’m not supposed to hear him. So I just gulp down the nervous lump in my throat and open my laptop.

“Want to watch some music videos? I’ve got good ones.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Are they all hard rock stuff?”

I shrug, just like he does a lot. “Maybe.”

“Alright,” he sighs. “But I pick one after, alright?”

“Deal.”

I pull up one my favourites, “Goddamn I’m Dead Again” by Sum 41. Everyone knows “Fat Lip” but nothing else. They’re missing out. “13 Voices” is an incredible album. Simon seems initially shocked by all the screaming, but soon he’s bobbing along with the incredible beat. I even catch him mouthing the words. Maybe pastel boy actually has good taste.

“My turn,” he says the second the song ends.

Simon enters in something quickly but obviously misspelled. YouTube understands it anyway. He clicks on the first video, titled “Born to Die” by Lana Del Rey. It’s slow, calming, almost like a dream. Miss Del Rey’s voice is beautiful, though she seems a bit extra, what with the massive flower crown and tigers.

“This song is really sad,” I whisper.

“That’s the point,” Simon hisses.

“And you like it?”

“Yeah. It’s beautifully tragic, y’know? A relationship they both really want but know won’t last long. I love the story of it.”

I look at him for a long moment. At his sunshine smile and constellation of freckles and sparkling blue eyes. I can feel my heart clench. Oh Simon, if only you knew.

The video ends soon enough, with Miss Del Ray’s character dying a fiery car wreck. How...pleasant...

“Wow,” I chuckle, “and I thought my shit was dark. You’re fucked up, Salisbury.”

He barks out a laugh. “Shut up. You pick something, Mr. Emo.”

I put a hand to my chest, mouth open in mock offense. _“Excuse_ you _,_ I am punk, not emo.”

“Oh same dif. Just pick something!”

I smack his shoulder without thinking. But he doesn't tense like before. Instead, he pushes back. Wow, he’s scarily strong. (That doesn't make my pulse stutter at all, of course.) I push him in return, because I never back down from a fight. We devolve into a small shoving match. I nearly topple over more than once. Simon is at risk a few times as well though. Once we’re all laughed and shoved out, I feel positively electric. We’re a bit closer on my bed. Our toes are almost touching.

My head keeps warning me that this is dangerous. But my skin is still tingling. I can only focus on that for now.

“Time for some _angrily_ sad music,” I say firmly.

Simon rolls his eyes, but doesn’t complain either. I put on some classic punk with Sex Pistols. Afterwards, Simon picks someone called Hayley Kiyoko, who is obviously _very_ gay. I enjoy her video quite a bit. We keep going back and forth. Green Day then Halsey. Ramones then Alessia Cara. The Clash then Bleachers. It makes for a very discombobulating but enjoyable series. We finish up with some Fall Out Boy when Simon suddenly brightens up with an idea.

“Oh oh! I’ve got one!’ He types furiously and practically squeals with elation when he finds what he’s looking for. Something called “Bloom” by Troye Sivan. “I love this song.”

He plays it, and Christ this singer must be gay. Or any other kind of LGBT+ sexuality slash identity. No straight man would be _that_ comfortable in lipstick and feather boas. He’s really playing up the campy costume factor. What are these lyrics even about though? It’s obviously a metaphor but for what? What could he mean? I don’t get i-

Oh. Oh wait. Is it about...? No, it can’t be, not in a mainstream pop song. But oh my god it is. It’s about _that!_ Holy shit, holy shit, keep it together, fucking keep it together! Does Simon realise this? From his calm shame free smile, I’d say no. I’m so jealous of the innocent bastard. He doesn’t have to sit next to the guy he’s unfortunately probably crushing on while listening to a song about something he might really want to do with him. Fuck, my life is hell. Fuck, fuck, fu-

“Basil? Are you in here?”

Daphne knocks only once before poking her head in. I slam my laptop lid closed so hard I fear I’ll break it. Because I really do not need my stepmother hearing a song about...that.

“Yes?” I say tensely, hoping the flush hasn’t covered my _entire_ face.

“There’s a car out front. Is it for your friend over here?”

“Is it a blue mini coop?” Simon asks sweetly.

“Yes.”

He jumps off the bed with flourish. “Then yeah, that’s mine. Gotta get going.”

I follow, standing up with more restraint and grace. “Okay, I’ll walk you to the door.”

“T-Thanks.” Again with the hair tuck, and again my defences take a hit.

We walk back down the spiral staircase and to the door. Simon looks at me one last time with his big grin, hands holding his knapsack straps like a perfect student.

“See you Friday to finish the project up, yeah?” he chirps.

“Yeah, see you.”

“Awesome! I, um, had fun today.”

I give a lopsided smile. “Me too.”

“Let’s...let’s do this again sometime, yeah?”

“Sure," I answer without thinking. Because goddammit, this is a terrible, terrible idea, and more than anything, I want to do it again.

“A-Alright, bye.” He lifts his hand up, clenching and unclenching it until he settles on a soft shoulder punch. I blink at him. Um, okay, that was...odd. My expression must convey that, because Simon goes cherry red before mumbling another goodbye and sprinting out the door. What an idiot. He’s so fucking cute.

“So, Baz,” Daphne says kindly from behind me, “is that boy your...”

“Boyfriend?” I say sarcastically. I turn to Daphne with a self satisfied smile. “You can say it, Daphne, it’s not a dirty word.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.”

I sigh. I actually believe her. She’s never been anything but genuine with me. And she really does try, unlike my Father. “It’s alright. And he isn’t. Not yet, at least.”

Daphne’s eyes widen only slightly. She’s middle aged and British, so that’s as much surprise as she’s willing to show. “Oh, oh I see. Well, um, alright then. I’m going to go make supper.”

She turns on her heels. I chuckle under my breath. Daphne is very sweet, but it’s still fun to mess with her a bit. I live for drama.

I saunter back upstairs and flop down on my bed with a sigh. My pulse still hasn’t stabilized. This is still _very_ bad. I know I need to end what we're doing. For my sake and Simon’s. But, I’m not strong enough. There’s so little keeping me sane right now, so little that makes me happy. Simon does. I’m selfish, horrible, a complete and utter plague.

Maybe it’s a good thing that I’m being sent away.

I look at my laptop, and immediately feel my cheeks flush. I carefully put the device on the ground. I need to not think about...that for awhile. Not with Simon’s gorgeous face still burned into my brain. But every time I close my eyes, that’s all I see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I feel like I still have trouble writing budding relationships as they progress. I'm trying to keep shit consistent and steadily developing but it's not easy. Keeping a story straight (or very gay haha) is actually much harder than it looks, which shouldn't be surprising but I'm an idiot lol. But fanfic is always a learning process and I think I'm learning how to do it better with this story even though it's not perfect imo. Hope you guys agree and like this. Well, see y'all next time :)
> 
> Chapter title is from "Sorry" by Nothing But Thieves.


	5. not so typical love song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz goes to Simon's house to work on the project.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as some of you may know/remember, I work at an amusement park. I was supposed to work today but it's literally raining all day so the park is most certainly closed. Which means I can post early! Hooray! This is personally one of my favourite chapters. I enjoyed writing it quite a bit, though I had trouble writing Baz's emotions. The boy is a weird self destructive mess and it's difficult getting that across lol. Finally, we learn a bit more about Simon. Plus some fluff, of course. Hope you all like it!

“Where are you going?”

I lazily turn towards Mordelia. She’s standing next to me with her arms behind her back, rocking on her heels. The picture of an adorable, unassuming child. You can hardly tell she's a brat.

“Out,” I reply.

“Mum says you go out too much.”

I do feel a bit bad about that. Daphne does legitimately care about my well being. “Well, you can tell her I’m not going out drinking. She can stop worrying.”

“Drinking what?”

I sigh. Right, she is still seven years old. “Nevermind. I’m just going to do schoolwork at someone’s house. I might be home for supper or not, I don’t know.”

“Okay. When can I ride on your motorbike?”

I smirk and buckle up my helmet. “Let's wait until you can reach the pedals. Then we’ll talk.”

Mordelia pouts pathetically. I ruffle her hair, which only makes her pout become an impressive scowl. I flip down my visor with flare and rev my engine. I give Mordelia a salute before driving off down the country road.

Simon’s house isn’t that far from mine, actually. Maybe a twenty minute ride, the way I break the speeding laws. I zip down the hill at ludicrous speeds, and keep that pace up across the country roads until they become moderately paved. Soon I’m on the sparse outskirts of Watford Cove, not the bloody fucking wilderness like mine. A much nicer place to live in my opinion.

Only a few minutes in, I arrive at the address Simon texted me. The house is actually quite posh. It’s not the terrible extravagance of the Pitch mansion of course, but it’s nice. Red brick, white shutters, some fancy curtains. There's a silver mailbox at the end of the drive with "Salisbury" painted on it in annoyingly bright green letters. The handwriting looks childish, as in a child probably wrote it. The initials "LS" are under the words like an artist's signature. Hm, interesting.

I park my bike in the driveway then make my way to the oak door. The doorbell chimes deep and loud. There’s some steps and soon it swings open. Oh. This is...not Simon. Because Simon is not an older greying-blonde woman.

This woman reminds me of portraits my own grandmother. She was also tall, straight backed, and respectful looking. But my grandmother never showed an ounce of happiness. This woman has a very kind smile on her face though, her wrinkles more from the expression rather than age.

“Hello,” she says kindly. “May I help you?”

“Um, I’m here to see Simon.”

Both her blue eyes and smile widen. “Oh right, Simon said you were coming. Simon! Your friend is here!”

There’s a crashing sound, like someone falling on the ground. Rapid steps come down the stairs until a beaming Simon jumps to the bottom.

“Hi Baz,” he says breathlessly. “Glad you found it.”

“I have Google Maps, Salisbury,” I deadpan, but with a smirk.

“Oh yeah, right, let’s go.” He motions for me to follow him inside. I nod to the woman. She looks up towards the stairs, hands on her hips.

“Simon,” she says with mock accusation, “are you not going to introduce me to your friend?”

Simon freezes halfway up the steps and whips his head around. “Oh right! Sorry, Gran. Um, Gran, this is Baz. Baz, this is my grandmother, Ruth Salisbury.”

I reach out my hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Salisbury.”

Her brows rise up in surprise. I suppose she didn’t expect politeness from a guy wearing a black Ramones shirt, leather jacket, and ear piercings. But she still takes my hand. “Pleasure to meet you as well, Baz. You two have fun.”

Simon scoffs. “It’s school, Gran. We’re not supposed to have fun.”

“School can be fun if you try, darling. Maths has made me very good at cards.”

“And you fleece Mrs. Jones every week at your games, I know. We gotta go.”

“Yes yes, go do your schoolwork. Don’t break anything.”

Simon and Ms. Salisbury smile good naturedly at each other as we go upstairs. He runs at a breakneck pace, nearly tripping over the green carpet. I follow more slowly, looking over the walls. Unlike my house, there are many personalised things. Landscape art, funny knick knacks, and some pictures. There’s one of Ms. Salisbury with an older man, who I assume to be her husband. Next to that, there’s the couple again but in their younger years. A boy and girl stand in the foreground, both as blonde as Ms. Salisbury. The last one at the top of the stairs is obviously the two kids as teenagers, grinning with arms around each other. The woman looks weirdly familiar. Her freckles, they remind me of...stars.

“Baz, c’mon!” Simon yells.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming. You’re quite bossy today, darling,” I say teasingly. I hear his gasp, then fall into a coughing fit.

“I-I just want to start working.” His voice is still a bit hoarse.

“Alright.”

I saunter down to the hall Simon went down. I step into his room, and...well, I’m not sure what else I expected. The bed and desk look old, but everything else is new. The floral blanket, the multicoloured rug, the IKEA shelf filled with comics, all quite fresh. The walls are bright blue and covered in posters. Troye Sivan, Lana del Ray, Hayley Kiyoko, and assorted pastel coloured art. Equally pastel clothes are spread out across the floor. The whole room is so...bright. It sort of hurts my eyes. I’d prefer everything a bit darker. I guess I like Simon’s colour palette in small doses, just not all in one room.

I look up. Simon’s at his desk. I finally notice that he’s wearing a new shirt. It’s like the sunflower one, but pink and with bright red rosebuds instead. It works with the copper undertones of his hair. He looks perfect in it.

“Pretty,” I whisper.

“What?” Simon asks sweetly.

Fuck, I hope my face isn’t as red as his shirt right now. “Um, nothing.”

He looks confused for only a moment then shrugs. “Okay. I woke up late and forgot breakfast, so I'm starving. Want some of this? For brain food and stuff.” He holds up a mint aero bar. My smile is instantaneous.

“Sure. Mint aeros are my favourite.”

He grins to his ears. “Mine too!

I sit in the chair next to him. He breaks off a large piece for me. We eat the chocolate at the same time, but Simon gets some around his mouth. (Of course he's a messy eater.) I want to slowly lick it off his cheek then kiss him so hard we run out of breath. I quickly look away to resist temptation. “So, you got the project up?”

“Oh yeah!” He turns back to his laptop. I see that the desk is covered in scribbly note paper, candy wrappers, and nail polish bottles. He’s got almost every colour in his preferred pastel shade. He’s actually wearing the pink one right now. It matches his shirt. I have to keep myself from making an out loud comment again.

“So I’ve started making the powerpoint,” Simon says, bringing up the application. “And I think we should start with Watership Down. The actual place. Cause it’s like, the most important setting right?”

I bite my tongue, because I...disagree. Strongly. Watership Down should be in the middle, because it is the end of their first journey and the beginning of the next. It’s important to illustrate that, I think. But he doesn’t know I would think that.

“Sure, cool,” I mutter.

“O-Okay. Then, uh, for characters, we should start with General Woundwort.”

Wrong, very wrong. He’s important, sure, but others should be discussed first. Maybe Hazel, Bigwig, or Fiver. Fuck, Bluebell should come before Woundwort.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” I hope there isn’t a strain in my voice.

“Awesome! And I thought for analysis, we could talk about the archetypes and shit.”

No! Archetypes are Jungian! We’re supposed to do Freudian! Oh, fuck it.

“Give me that,” I hiss, snatching the laptop away. Simon blinks at me confused. I type furiously, barely thinking really, just spouting out the knowledge I have onto the slides. Some of the stuff is very smart but not well put, so I redo the wording. Not good with words, just like Simon said. I don’t know how long it takes, but when I’m done, I put the laptop back on the desk with my arms crossed.

“There,” I say curtly.

Simon looks through it, jaw falling open wider and wider with every slide. I shift away. Christ, this is embarrassing.

“Holy shit,” Simon whispers. I wait for him to start laughing, or yelling because I change his work. But he just turns to me with big awe filled eyes. “You’re...really smart.”

My cheeks must be as red as tomatoes now. I scoff and look at the Hayley Kiyoko poster. “Yeah, whatever.”

“No, no, I mean it, Baz. This is bloody brilliant! You’re super smart!” His brow furrows. “Why do you never show up to class? You could be getting As in like, everything.”

I press my lips together, digging my nails into my bicep. “I don’t care about school or grades. That’s all.”

“Really? You just, don’t care?”

“No, I don’t.”

Simon sighs, and I hate how close to pity it sounds. I don’t need his pity or anyone else’s. I made my choice a long time ago, and I don’t regret it. Well, I mostly don’t regret it. Certainly don’t regret because of where I’m going when term is done. Not at all...

“So, uh,” Simon says rapidly, obviously trying to break the forming tension, “I'm also mostly done the drawings. I’ll scan them later and put them in the presentation if you like them.”

He pulls out a sketchbook from his desk and flips through the pages. He shoves it in my face once he’s found the right one, making me jolt back in my chair. I snatch it from him.

“Christ, Salisbury, let me actually look,” I chuckle.

“Oh, sorry, sorry.”

I look at the picture, and it’s my turn to be awestruck. It’s...amazing. Rough, raw, a bit messy, but amazing. He’s captured Watership Down in just pencil. Sure, it’s just a hill, but Simon has drawn it from the perspective of the rabbits, so it looks looming and majestic. There are little shapes at the top, and I realise it’s a few of the rabbits looking out into the distance. A cute and perfect addition.

“Wow, this is incredible,” I say with absolute reverence.

Simon blinks at me. He seems genuinely surprised. “R-Really?”

“Yes. You’re very talented, Simon.”

“Oh, uh, well, thanks. I’m...really glad you think so.” He fiddles with his fingers nervously. “There’s a-a couple more if you want to see them. Three pages after.”

I flip through a few more pages. There are a lot of rough, abstract sketches. They look more like feelings than specific things. Waves of smoke, angry scribbles of pencil, over and over. He must do that a lot. Eventually, I land on what I think I'm supposed to see. It's obviously Fiver, based on the photo he showed me. But it's not an exact replica. It's a gorgeous interpretation. He's emphasized Fiver's large, sad, all knowing eyes. You can almost see everything terrifying and wonderful happening in them. To say I’m impressed doesn’t really cover it.

I go to the next page, and I immediately recognise it as a scene from the animated movie. When El Ahrairah, the first rabbit, was given physical gifts to survive predators from their fictitious god Frith. This one is in colour, and somehow even more stylised than the movie. El Ahrairah himself is a deep rich brown with grey loops, the sun is swirl of orange and yellow, and the sky is ripples of vibrant blue. The same colour as his eyes.

“These,” I say, “are perfect, Simon.”

Simon chuckles nervously, fiddling with his fingers. “I’m glad you think so. Think Miss Possibelf will approve?”

“If she doesn’t, she’s completely incompetent. And I don’t think that’s true.” I absentmindedly turn to the next page. It’s the start of another unfinished drawing. It’s of someone’s face. Someone with sharp cheekbones and dark wavy hair. Wait, is that-

Simon snatches the book and quickly flips it closed. He hides half his scarlet face behind the leather cover for a long moment, until he nervously coughs and lowers it. “Okay, good,” he stutters. “Glad you think so. I, uh, guess we’re done now. Man, we really could just do most of this over text.” Mother of God, must he keep doing that hair tuck? It’s torture.

“I suppose that's true," I chuckle.

"Wanna hang out?" He asks very quickly, gripping his sketchbook with ghost white knuckles.

I shouldn't. Fuck, I really shouldn't. I should go home, avoid him, keep my toxic self far away from Simon. But fucking hell, I'm weak for this boy, and just weak in general.

"Sure." My voice stays impressively neutral. "Any ideas?"

Simon twists his lips, looking around the brightly coloured room. His eyes drift down to my hands and he smiles mischievously. “I could redo your nails.”

I look down at my hands. Well, my nails are definitely chipped. I forgot to repaint them a few days ago. I look back at him with a raised brow. “I doubt you have a bottle of my ‘Chanel Le Vernis in Gris Obscur’, Salisbury.”

“Nah, definitely no Chanel. But I got some pretty good stuff from the drugstore.” He lifts up some obviously cheap but pretty nail varnish bottles. They’re all his pastels colours though.

“Not really my style.”

He shrugs. “Maybe you’d like to try something new?”

I bite the corner of my mouth. The colours hurt my eyes a bit. But he looks so adorable with that hopeful grin and glint in his eyes. I sigh, and put my left hand out. “Very well. I want your darkest shade though.”

Simon literally bounces with excitement. “Awesome! So, uh, how about...” He messes around with the bottles, almost dropping a few. Eventually he settles on a pale blue. “This one, and,” he holds up a unused looking dark grey, “this one? We can alternate.”

“Hm, sure. That grey doesn’t really match _your_ style, though.”

He shrugs. “Eh, came with the set. Glad it did. It, uh, matches your eyes.” He looks pointedly at the desk instead of my face. That’s good though. I don’t want him to see the blush that’s spread across my cheeks. “Now gimme your right hand.”

I do as he says, placing it on the desk. He puts down some paper towel then pick up his nail polish remover and cotton balls. I have the exact same supplies at home. He reaches towards my hand, but quickly hesitates. He’s shaking actually. I can’t blame him. Every time we’ve touched, it’s been accidental or very quickly. This is different. This isn't a shoulder pat or playful shove. This is long and sustained and purposeful. And I may not be showing it, but I’m just as nervous.

“I can take it off myself,” I say quickly, reaching for the bottle. But Simon pulls it away.

“No no, I’m good. Just sit there and look...badass, alright?”

My lip twitches up. He’s so sweet. I leave my hand where it is. “Very well.”

Slowly, shakily, he slips his finger under mine. His skin is callused but still much smoother than my rough palms. It feels weird, but very nice. Almost electric. He dabs the cotton ball on the nail, rubbing off all my high end black nail polish. Huh, they look odd. it’s been awhile since my nails have been clean. After wiping them dry, he starts on with the blue. It’s a nice colour. Not something I would pick, but I can see the appeal. Simon drags the brush against my nail slowly but surely, making sure the coat is even.

“Hm,” I say, “you’re good at this.”

“Thanks,” he chuckles. “Self taught. A lot of trial and error, y’know? Took me ages to figure out how to do my right hand.”

“I learned from YouTube videos. Those makeup gurus know their shit.”

“Huh, smart. Oh, y’know what.” He stops painting and spins in his chair. Even with his back to me, I now he’s fiddling with his phone. Suddenly, the honeyed voice of Lana Del Rey is resonating through the room. He spins back with a grin.

“Your weird music is necessary?” I raise an eyebrow for sarcastic emphasis. Simon chuckles.

“Yeah, helps me concentrate. And it’s part of my continuing effort to convert you to good music.”

“Oh, is that your grand mission?”

“Yup! Slowly pull you away from all those screamy boys with bad haircuts and towards the beauty of Troye and Lana.”

I scoff. “You keep trying that, darling.”

He gives me a shy but sort of playful look from under his long eyelashes. “I certainly will...darling.”

Oh shit. I hope my complexion hides my blush enough. I smile back and try to look calm, hiding the storm in my chest.

We switch between chatting and companionable silence. Though Simon is never truly quiet. He hums along with the song, or makes noises of contemplation and frustration while trying to get my nails right. His hands slowly get less shaky, which helps. When we’re not talking, I take the opportunity to just watch his expression. How he sticks his tongue out in concentration, and his brow pulls together, and his face adorable pinches together when he gets something wrong. He always tries his best to fix it though, even with his clumsy fingers. It’s really sweet. Just like him.

I'm so unbelievably fucked.

“And...there!” He pulls back with a flourish. “Topcoat and everything. What do you think?”

I examine my hands. Huh, the blue is actually nice on me. And he’s right, the grey matches my eyes. It’s very well done. Maybe black isn’t the only colour I should use. I look up. Simon is staring at me wide eyed, chewing on his lip, leg jittering.

“It’s wonderful,” I say. “You did a marvelous job, Salisbury. Maybe you have a future as a nail artist.”

His nervous expression breaks, thankfully. I’ve found I prefer his grin to his genuine agitation. Blushing smile? Adorable. Wide eyed leg jittering? Not so much. “T-Thanks. Maybe...you could do mine sometime?”

Our eyes meet, and there’s no deception there. He’s always so genuine. It’s amazing. “Sure," I say before thinking. "If you can learn to like black.”

She shrugs. “Well, if you can learn to like blue, I guess I can try black.”

He grins, and I grin back. There’s a stretch of silence. It builds between us, making the air thicker and thicker. I’m torn between what I want to say and what I should. That I want more from this, more than just winks and smiles and “darlings”. But I know it can’t work. Simon should know that. I should tell him, all of it. But...he'll hate me. For not telling him about Switzerland, for using him like a plaything, for being an utterly stupid reckless prick. Can I handle him truly hating me?

“Simon, love! It’s nearly supper! Are you and Baz done your work?” Ms. Salisbury’s voice carries quite well. It jolts me from my depressive pit. Simon sighs and leans out towards the door.

“Yeah! Be down in a minute, Gran.” He looks at me, and I swear I see genuine sadness. “Looks like it’s time to say goodbye.”

I try to hide my own disappointment. “Yeah, looks like it.”

He bounces out of his chair, then offers his hand. I inhale sharply. Did not expect that. But after only a second of hesitation, I take it. He pulls me to my feet with ease. I’m still disturbed by how much his strength excites me.

“C’mon, let’s get you back on your motorbike, Pitch.”

“Should get you on it one day,” I say under my breath.

“What?”

I straighten up, hands in my jacket pockets. “Nothing, Salisbury.”

We walk down the stairs quickly. Well, Simon more jumps down them. He’s a never ending ball of energy. Ms. Salisbury is at the bottom.

“How was the work, you two?” she asks sweetly.

“Wonderful!” Simon chirps. “Talked about bunnies and stuff, and Baz let me do his nails.”

My brow shoots up to my hairline. I can’t believe he’s so open about this. If I told my father or Daphne the same, they would not say anything at best and lecture me at worst. But Ms. Salisbury looks positively elated by Simon’s words. “Oh, marvellous. Finally you can practice on someone other than me, love.”

Simon rolls his eye. “Yeah, like you don’t like it.”

“Of course. But it’s good you have another guinea pig. May I see your work?”

Simon looks at me in silent question. I shrug in response, then hold out my hand for his grandmother. She flips the glasses down from her head. “Amazing job, Simon. You’ve gotten so much better. And it looks great on you, Baz.”

“Thank you, Ms. Salisbury.”

She pulls away, waving dismissively. “Please, call me Ruth. Now, Baz, will you be staying for dinner?”

“Uh.” I turn to Simon. “Am I staying for dinner, Simon?”

Simon’s face turns red. “Oh, sure, if you want.”

I shrug. “I’m certainly in no rush to get home, and if it’s no trouble.”

“Oh it’s none at all,” Ms. Salis- Ruth says, waving her hand dismissively.

“Then I guess I’ll stay for supper.”

Ruth claps her hand once loudly. “Wonderful! Let me put out another setting.”

She saunters off to the kitchen. I decide to actually take off my jacket and boots and stay awhile. Simon leans in close to my ear, making my pulse spike.

“Hope you like roast beef,” he whispers. “It’s the only thing Gran knows how to cook well. Grandpa was a chef, and she’s been on her own since he died, so she’s never had to cook anything else. But she’s been learning more since I’ve got here.”

I shrug like he does. “I think I’ll live.”

“Good to hear.”

Simon leads me to the small dining room table. When I go to the left side, Simon grabs my hand and drags me to the right. I jolt slightly. Wow, that’s bold for him. Not that I’m complaining. I sit next to him as Ruth brings out a platter of delicious smelling meat and mash potatoes. Simon immediately shovels the food on his plate, licking his lips like a starving animal. I on the other hand take only a few slices delicately just like my mother taught me. But Ruth gives me an odd look.

“Are you not hungry, Baz?” she asks.

“Um, no, I am,” I reply slowly.

“Then please, take as much as you like. I always make a lot because of Simon’s endless appetite.”

Simon rolls his eyes, speaking with a mouth full of roast beef. “I’m a growing boy!”

“Growing monster more like it,” Ruth chuckles.

Huh, okay. I decide to be polite and take some more. Dinner proper starts, and it's...weird. My family is never this talkative at supper. We’re mostly silent and sullen. But the Salisburies are the exact opposite. Ruth and Simon chat, though Simon has trouble responding through all the the food in his mouth. (The boy has zero manners. It’s adorable.)

“So, Baz,” Ruth asks, facing me, “how’s school for you? I’ve only ever heard about it from Simon and Miss Penelope.”

No one’s ever asked my opinion of school either. I shrug. “It’s alright. Not my favourite place to be, of course. I think English is my favourite subject.” I tap Simon’s foot under the table. His breath hitches slightly, and he flashes me only a small smile. But it’s enough.

“Glad to hear so. Simon loves English too. He’s always eager to get to first period for Miss Possibelf’s class every morning.”

I flick my eyes over to Simon. His cheeks are flushed as he bites into his roast beef.

“Hm, glad to hear I’m not the only one who loves literature.” I let my voice drawl a bit, hopefully enough for Simon to notice but not Ruth. He doesn’t look up from his food, but I feel his toe tap my foot. And once again, it’s enough. Everything Simon does seems to be enough for me.

“I’m just glad Simon’s adjusting to Watford,” Ruth sighs. “It’s not easy moving schools most of the way through the year.”

Simon sighs in return. They sound almost exactly alike. Though Simon is more exasperated. “I told you, Gran, I’m fine. My grades are much better than last term.”

“There’s a good reason for that.” Ruth aggressively stabs her beef, and Simon looks sad as he nods slightly. This is the only crack in Ruth's kind demeanour I’ve seen all day. It’s strange, and the curious brainiac in me wants to know more. But the sensible part knows to just keep eating my food.

“Hey,” Simon chirps, “did I tell you about the kid who gave himself a wedgie in gum class yet?”

Ruth’s playful smile immediately returns. “No, I don’t believe you have.”

“Oh man, it was hilarious! Baz you’ll love this too.”

I lean my cheek into my palm. “I’m sure I will.”

Simon launches into the rambling anecdote, using mostly weird noises and illustrative hand gestures instead of words. Ruth and I both laugh along genuinely. This is the first time I’ve enjoyed a family meal in ages. It may be unusual, but it’s certainly not unenjoyable.

Soon enough, dinner is over, and Ruth brings out dessert. They’re sour cherry scones from Pritchard Bakery. Simon takes three immediately and starts slathering butter all over them.

“You like scones?” I ask mockingly.

Simon nods, scone crumbs all around his mouth. “Uh-huh. Gran got me some my first day here. They’re absolutely incredible.”

“My cousin owns the bakery, you know.”

His eyes go impossibly wide. “Really?! Could you get me some free samples?”

I shrug, a playful smile on my face. “Maybe.”

“Simon, you eat enough, you don’t need any more,” Ruth kindly berates. Simon frowns.

“There’s never enough scones, Gran.”

Ruth and I exchange an understanding look. Maybe I will bring him to see Cousin Pritchard before I go though. Something to make him happy before I’m gone.

Soon enough, Simon’s eaten all the scones, the dishes are done, and it’s my time to go. I’m a gentleman, I know when to take my leave. Simon and Ruth walk me out of the house.

“It was lovely having you, Baz,” Ruth says. And I have to admit, I’m a bit taken aback. Most parents and/or guardians aren’t this friendly to me. Dev and Niall’s parents barely acknowledge my existence nowadays, and they’ve known me since I was a baby. It’s a warm feeling I never thought I’d miss.

“Thank you for having me, Ruth,” I reply, smiling graciously.

“Anytime. Simon, feel free to invite him over again.”

Simon smiles sweetly at me, cheeks unabashedly scarlet. “Yeah, okay. Maybe we should meet up before the presentation on Wednesday?”

I nod, hoping my cheeks aren’t _as_ bright. “I think I’d like that.”

Because I would. I regretfully very much would.

“Awesome! See you later!”

My lip twitches up without thinking. “See you.”

I get my helmet on. I don’t rev my engine as loud as usual to be respectful. Simon waves with his entire arm, while Ruth’s looks more like the queen. I salute in return. (That seems to be my thing now. I’ve embraced it.)

As I drive back towards my home, my mind stays with the Salisburies. With nail polish, roast beef, and a sense of peaceful happiness that lingers in me long after the house is in the distance.

I get to the Pitch hill and just sit there, looking up at the looming little bastard. I know what I’m supposed to do. Go back to all the misery there. But fuck that. I turn to the left, not back towards Simon’s, but at least somewhere my father isn’t. Somewhere I can keep this feeling for a little longer. And maybe get really pissed.

* * *

 

“Basilton! Where have you been?!”

If I didn’t already have a migraine, I’d assume my father’s voice had just given me one. Going on a two day bender will do that to you. I stop walking but don’t turn around. Honestly, I look like a wreck right now, and I don’t want him to see it.

“Away,” I say curtly.

“Away where?! We haven’t seen you in days! No calls, no mail. We’ve been worried sick!”

I groan and turn on my heels finally. To my utter surprise, he looks genuinely concerned. His eyes are wide and his hair is disheveled, like he’s been running his hands through it. Huh. Actually worried about where I’ve been. That’s a first.

“Well, I’m home now,” I sigh. “Happy?”

“Certainly not.” He puts his hands on his hips like a pissed off school teacher. “I’ve been getting calls from your school. You’ve missed almost all of your classes, including tests and projects. I thought we had an agreement.”

I whip around, scowling with as much menace as I can muster with a hangover. “No, _you_ gave me an ultimatum. And I refuse to be threatened into doing what you want, Father dearest.”

I start stomping away again, but we Grimms refuse to not have the last word. “Are you sure you haven’t just been...distracted, Basilton?”

I stop halfway up the stairs. The tone of his voice could imply many things, but I have a sinking feeling I know what he means. I chuckle, shaking my head. “Daphne told you about Tuesday, I suppose.”

“That you brought a boy over to our house without our knowledge? Yes. And I find it a bit disrespectful that-”

“That I what?!” I yell, probably louder than I should, considering it’s late at night and I have four younger siblings. “Dare to _be_ gay?! Sorry it’s harder to ignore my sexuality when I’m actually acting on it.”

My father takes a deep breath, something he always does when he’s trying to keep his slipping composure. “Basilton, that is not what I meant.”

“Oh really? So you’re actually okay with me bringing guys around? Maybe I’ll start having big gay nightclub parties in the receiving room.”

I can see my father losing his cool. Bit by bit, his perfect British man composure is slipping. It’s the effect I certainly have these days. “That would not be appropriate, Basil. And I merely meant that maybe this ‘Simon’ is distracting you from your studies and causing your poor grades.”

For a second, I don’t know whether to laugh or be furious. Fire bubbles in my gut, my fingers curling on the bannister. Yup, let’s go with righteous fury. I stomp down the stairs and push my face into his.

“No,” I growl, “Simon is not at fault. _You_ are. _You_ are the catalyst for all the things I’m doing now, Your bullheadedness, your pride, your prejudi-”

“Oh for God’s sake, Basil!” He roars. “For once in your life take some goddamn responsibility for your own actions!”

I step back a bit. I haven’t seen him this outwardly angry in a year, but he’s practically seething. If he was the kind of man to throw a punch, he would have just clocked me. But instead he just stares me down in an attempt to intimidate. That won’t work.

“Fuck you,” I mutter, turning on my heels and stomping towards the door.

“Where are you going?” he calls after me.

“Out!” I turn to glare at him. “And I’ll be back when I feel like it!”

I make sure to slam the door very loudly, hoping my message is clear. I know exactly where I want to go. And who I want to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Baz being a total brat here? Yes. Is his bratiness sorta justified? Also yes. Things are complicated. And finally we meet Ruth! I loved reading everyone's comments speculating about Simon's home life cause this was planned from the start lol. But why is Simon living with Ruth? Well, that will be explained shortly. Tune in next time for answers :)
> 
> Chapter title is from "Alfie's Song" by Bleachers.


	6. i don't want this moment to ever end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz is down, and there is only one person he wants to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooh boy I'm nervous about starting this part of the story. I hope you guys like it, and don't hate me too much. Mrs_ZombieOctopus reassured me it was good but I'm still super anxious because I am a mess of anxiety and black clothing lol. Anywho, enjoy!

Throwing pebbles at a window looks so easy in the films. Maybe rom-com protagonist have some sort of sixth sense for tiny rocks. I must be a really shitty rom-com character then, because it takes me five minutes to find four of the little bastards. The first one misses by a bit, then the second hits slightly too hard. Shit, what if I shatter the glass? That wouldn’t be cute. I toss the last two in quick succession. I start searching for a fifth one when the window slides open with an audible hiss.

“Baz?” Simon whisper-yells from the open window. He looks like an adorable angel, with beautiful bed head and rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What on Earth are you doing?!”

“I wanted to see you,” I say plainly.

“And you couldn’t call me because...?”

“Did you not hear the verb I used? ‘ _See’_ , Simon. Calling wasn’t good enough.”

He blinks in confusion. “Oh, uh, okay. What is it?”

“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to go on a bike ride with me.”

Simon’s eyes pop out of his skull so much I can see it from the ground. “What?! I-It’s like, midnight! And I don’t have a helmet and I’ve never ridden a motorbike before!”

I roll my eyes, lifting up the spare helmet. “I brought you one, of course. And you don’t have to do much except hold onto me very, very tight.”

I wish I could see the blush I know is spreading across his face. He’s biting his lip nervously, fingers drumming against the window sill. I shake the helmet for emphasis. Simon sighs and nods slowly.

“Lemme get my coat, okay?”

I grin in reply, and Simon grins back before he shuts his window. I put my helmet back on and rev the engine as quietly as I can. There’s no need to wake up Ruth. She’s the one adult who I want to stay on the good side of. The door closes quietly, and Simon rushes out. He’s wearing his rose hoodie and pink fleece pyjama pants. He approaches my bike like a confused, terrified deer. I hold out the helmet to him.

“Put this on,” I say. “Then hold onto my waist very tight.”

Simon nods rapidly. “O-Okay.”

He takes the helmet and squeezes it over his big head and even bigger hair. He has to push his curls away from his eyes before flipping down the visor. I feel rather than see Simon climb on behind me. He shifts uncomfortably for a second before settling, but there’s half an inch between us.

“I told you,” I say playfully, “you have to hold on tight.”

Simon doesn’t move for a second, but soon he scoots forward and his strong arms wrap around my waist. He’s a long line of heat against and around me.

“Allons-y,” I announce.

“Uh, I don’t speak Fre- Ah!”

Simon holds me tighter as we race down the road. The scenery blurs into dark blues and blacks and orange lights from houses. We travel the road back towards my house, winding up the hill at a much more safe pace than I usually use. I don’t kiss the concrete, but I lean a bit, just enough to make Simon squeeze my waist. We get to the more back roads, with trees hanging over us. I feel Simon’s head turning as he looks around us.

“Pretty,” he whispers.

“Just wait,” I reply. “It gets better.”

Simon nods against me. I speed up slightly. After a few more roads and a couple of turns, we’re at one of my favourite place in the world. A small hill that my mother use to tell me was the home of the Gods.

I park my bike in the corner. Simon steps off like a shaky fawn, giving him an excuse to put a steadying hand on my shoulder. He takes off his helmet and hands it to me. His hair is flattened adorably against his head. I want to reach out and ruffle his curls back into bounciness.

“What is this place?” he asks with true awe.

“Well,” I sigh, “I think it has some boring official English name, like Bromley or Stapleford. But I’ve always called it Mt. Olympus.”

“Like the home of the Greek Gods?”

“Yes, exactly. Fan of Greek myth, Salisbury?”

He shrugs, smiling slightly. “Sorta. Loved the Percy Jackson series. One of the few books I’ve read more than once.”

I grin and gesture for Simon to follow. “Then let me show you Mt. Olympus.”

We walk up the small incline. Even though it’s barely above the town, everything feels more isolated up here. Nothing can get to me. Or to Simon. We're alone among whistling trees and shining stars.

“Wow,” Simon gasps. “It’s...amazing. Look at the stars!” He immediately sits down and flops on his back. I follow, using my jacket as a pillow. I remember doing something like this a long time ago, when I was much younger, with a woman who I lost not long after.

“Do you know the constellations, Simon?” He shakes his head. I shift closer and point towards the sky. “So, right there is Ursa Minor, the little dipper. His tail is polaris the north star, also called Polaris. It’s the guiding star of all the sailors. There’s the archer, Orion, pulling his bow. That’s Canis Major, the Greek hound Laelaps.”

“I like dogs,” Simon sighs.

“Of course you do.” He makes an annoyed sound, and I snicker. “I’m just saying, you’re a giant puppy yourself so of course you’d like dogs.”

He smacks my hand. “Arsehole.” It takes me a second to notice that his hand lingers next to mine, possibly waiting for me to take it. But I’m a coward who can't bring myself to initiate, so I stay still, instead looking out into sparkling sky that reminds me of his freckled face. Simon’s hand doesn’t move though, even as we sit in silence and stare at the sky.

I know this was a bad idea. I know I should be distancing myself from Simon, not bringing him closer. But by God, I needed to see him after tonight. Just being around him, I already feel calmer. Like I can finally breathe again when his sweet smelling shampoo wafts across my nose. I guess I am still using Simon for my own ends, even if their more mushy now. I truly am a curse.

“Baz,” Simon whispers after the long quiet, “are you okay?”

I shift uncomfortably. “What makes you ask that?”

“You threw rocks at my window, got me on your motorbike, and drove me to a hill in the middle of the night. It’s a pretty reasonable question.”

I chuckle, running a hand through my hair. “Well, it’s a reasonable question with a long answer.” And an answer I’m not sure I want to give in full.

Simon shrugs. “I don’t have anywhere to be. Do you?”

“No,” I sigh, “I suppose not.” I put both hands over my chest, drumming my fingers against my rib cage. He might as well know the lead up. It's the least I can do. Well, least I think I'm willing to do. “So, my father and I, we don’t...get along, to put it lightly. There’s been tension for ages but it’s always been under control. Until last year.”

“When you went punk?” I give Simon a curious look. How the Hell does he know about that? He looks at his hands nervously. “Um, Penny mentioned you used to be like, all academic and a star football player and shit. But then one day you came to school with your bike and wearing the leather jacket, and you stopped showing up to class or practice. Did, that have something to do with you dad?”

I nod slowly. “Yes, it did. My father has always been quite demanding, especially in the case of grades. Anything less than perfect was unacceptable. I would get an A on a GCSE practice and my father would just calmly ask why I hadn’t gotten an A star. I kept my feelings under control for years out of some sense of courtesy and paternal honour I guess. But last year, I hit the breaking point. And it wasn’t, um...pretty.”

Simon scoots closer and brushes my hand again. The back of his presses against mine. His warmth calms me down. “It’s alright,” he whispers. “You don’t have to tell me. And even if you do, I won’t judge you.”

I let my head loll over to look at him. There’s nothing but genuine caring in his face. Christ, how did I find someone like him? I sigh, and look back out towards the stars. It’s easier to say this when I’m not looking at him.

“Last year, after ages of agonizing, I finally came out to my father. I didn’t expect him to throw me a damn Pride parade or anything, but I hoped he’d at least make no comment and move on. But no. He shook his head and said ‘really, Basil? Must you do this to our family after everything we’ve been through? What would your mother think?’ Like my very... _existence_ was somehow offensive to him. And to use my mother like that, it was unacceptable. I screamed at him for the first time that day, then I stormed out of the house. The next day, I came back with the motorbike, three ear piercings, and a disregard for academics. I decided if I could never live up to his standards, there was no point in trying. We’ve been on terrible terms ever since.”

I drag a hand over my face, trying to rub out the tension I feel. This is the first time I’ve told that story to anyone since Dev and Niall. And it’s still only most of the story, not all. I’m still too scared of what Simon would say if I told him about Switzerland. What a weakling I am.

”That’s horrible,” Simon says quietly. “You opened yourself up and he just spit on it. What a total fucking arsehole.”

Huh, despite his harsh language, he’s not quite angry. He sounds more...sympathetic. I turn onto my side so I can look at him better.

“You speak as if you understand,” I whisper.

Slowly, Simon turns on his side as well, copying my position. He looks at the ground, tracing patterns in the grass while he chews on his bottom lip.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “I sorta do.”

Cautiously, for myself and for him, I place a hand over his wrist. He stops tracing the ground for a long moment. I almost pull away, but Simon quickly turns his palm over and firmly grabs my hand. I can feel my face light up red. Of course, we’ve held hands before, but never while we’re so close that I could count his eyelashes and play connect the dots between his freckles.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want either,” I say as kindly as I can.

“No no, I do. It’s just...” He squeezes his eyes shut and sighs. “Did I ever tell you why I moved?”

I run through our conversations in my head. All I find is school, Watership Down, nail varnish, and music. Nothing close to why he moved.

“No, I don’t think you did.”

Simon nods slowly. “Right right, I thought so. Just wanted to make sure. I’ve only told Penny sorta. Just because she kept hearing rumours.” He looks at the ground, twisting his mouth. “They’re not true, y’know. I’m not an orphan or a runaway. Well, not fully. My Dad’s still alive and I ran away from him with his permission.”

I blink rapidly. Okay...that’s a weird statement. I’ve never heard the rumours before, but I could see other kids gossiping. Simon must see the confusion in my eyes, because he keeps explaining.

“So, yeah, I lived with my Dad before moving here. He ran a fancy boarding school and I lived there with him 24/7. And he was kind of like your Dad. Except...well, mine was never really calm about his disappointment in me.”

My hand squeezes his tighter on instinct. Simon squeezes back. “Simon, you don’t have to talk about this.”

He shakes his head. “No no, I want to. I’ve just never told anyone the whole thing before, not even Gran. My Dad...he just, he always wanted a perfect golden son that looked good on him. But I’m not smart, I’m strong but not coordinated, and sometimes I lose my temper too easily. I'd get in a lot of fights, which he didn't like, even though I was just trying to help. I'd speak and he'd tell me to keep my mouth shut. But really no matter what I did I messed it up somehow. And Dad made it very clear when he was unhappy with me. Usually with a lot of shouting and the occasional backhand .”

Anger rages in my veins. Simon looks close to tears. I want to stomp his father’s face in until he feels the pain he must’ve put Simon through. But that’s not feasible. So I just hold Simon’s hand tighter and shift a bit closer, letting Simon know that I’m here and his father can’t hurt him anymore. Not if I can damn well help it.

“I put up with it as well,” Simon continues. “Because he was the only family I knew. But I hit the breaking point as well.” He takes a deep breath, obviously steadying his nerves. “There was a cleaning lady at my Dad’s school, Ebb. I sat with her at lunch because no one else wanted to be near me. No one likes the headmaster’s kid. Might tattle to his dad, y’know? But Ebb was really nice. Never treated me different. She was my only friend growing up.”

He tenses, and talks like he’s forcing the words out. “But then...one day, Ebb wasn’t at lunch. I wandered around the school looking at her, and I found her in my Dad’s office. H-He was just, screaming at her, non-stop, just like he did to me. Apparently there was some mess that a board member saw and my Dad blamed Ebb. I-I was so shocked by how he was treating her. I mean, I thought it was just me he was horrible to, and I could put up with it. But doing that to someone else? I just, I couldn’t stand it. I decided to leave after that.

“Through some investigating, I found my Gran, and I asked if I could live with her. She said yes, of course. And when I asked my Dad to move, y’know what he said? ‘Fine. As long as you’re out of my hair.’ Like I was just a nuisance to him, not his son. Which I knew I was. Still, hurt to hear it.”

Simon lets out a long breath this time. Telling the story has obviously exhausted him, and I can see why. I thought my father was rough, but he’s nothing compared to Simon’s. I can’t imagine growing up with someone like that. Yet even after everything, he’s still so cheerful, so happy. As if I could admire him any more.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He shakes his head with a sad smile. “S’alright. It was for the best anyway. I’m a lot happier since moving here. Dad never let me wear what I like, y’know. Said it was too girly and shit and people would think I was weird. Always made we wear grey or brown or green like him. But Gran is okay with it, and so is Penny, and you. So he was wrong.” The smile gets a little less sad, and my heart skips a few beats.

We sit in silence again for awhile, both coming down from the confessions. Simon plays with my fingers, bouncing them up and down, tracing the bones. The little sparks he sends through my veins are both wonderful and terrifying. But suddenly, he stops, looking up at me with an obvious question in his eyes.

“What, Simon?” I ask with mock exasperation.

“It’s just, uh,” he chews on his lip, “you, mentioned something about your Mum.”

My blood runs cold. “And you didn't mention your's at all.” I snap. Simon looks surprised and embarrassed.

“Oh, right.” He shrugs. “Not much to mention, y’know? She’s dead. Childbirth. Dad didn’t even tell me her name until I was 12, and I didn’t know her Mum, my Gran, was even still alive until I found her this year. Gran has told me more about her though. She was really nice apparently. How she ended up with someone like me Dad, I have no idea. Neither does Gran, really. She hates him for keeping my Mum from contacting her. Stupid prick. But yeah, I never knew her.”

Christ, I feel like such an arsehole. Which I deserve. I shift closer and weave our fingers together, getting his hand as close to mine as possible. Getting him as close to me as possible. “Sorry. I was rude.”

He shrugs again. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. Because I...I understand what that’s like.” Simon looks both curious and surprised. I close my eyes, and will the words to come out. Ones I’ve never said to a single person. A side of the story unknown to anyone, even those who were there that day. “My mother was the headmaster of Watford when I was a child. She was extremely dedicated, and spent many lates nights working there, sometimes with me if my father was busy too. A few weeks before school started, when I was five, we were there late, and my Mum heard a noise. She told me to wait in her office. But I was a stupid child, so I followed. Turned out some drunk teenagers had broken in for whatever reason. My fearless mother confronted them, even getting in their faces. They immediately panicked. One of them had a knife. He got a lucky shot in her neck. And, I saw the whole thing. The cowards ran off. I tried to save my mum but, there was so much blood...”

I try to block out the images, but they’re burned into my brain. They have been for years. The glint of the knife, her ear piercing scream, her wet gasps, all the red pooling on the ground as the light died from her grey eyes. I called 999, I did everything I could, and she still died. I couldn't fucking save her. My father took me home afterwards. I slept for three days, but I was still crying when I woke up. Shit, I’m pretty sure I’m crying right now. Years later and I still can’t talk about her without tearing up. Deep down, maybe I still am that terrified five year old who had to watch his mother die.

Something warm touches my face. It takes me a moment to realise it’s Simon’s calloused hand, cupping my cheek, wiping away the few rebellious tears still running down them. Slowly, I open my eyes. Simon’s face is so close now. All I can see are his incredibly blue eyes. I think I could get lost in them.

“I-I’m so sorry, Baz,” he chokes out. “That is so horrible. You didn’t deserve to go through that. I mean, no one does, but you really didn’t. And I’m just, really sorry.”

A corner of my lip pulls up. I put my hand over Simon’s, letting his warmth calm me down. “Thank you, Simon.”

Simon chuckles under his breath. “Y’know, we’re a lot more alike than I first thought.”

Arsehole fathers? Check. Dead mums? Check. Secretly fucked up? Definitely check. Fucking hell, we match.

I chuckle in return. “I guess so.”

Simon’s eyes are so close, and I can see them flick down. Down to where my lips are. Oh christ, he’s thinking about it too now. Part of me desperately wants to cross that line. Do more than flirt and hold hands. But I _know_ . I know and he doesn’t. He needs to know why I shouldn’t- why I _can’t_ give him more.

“Simon...” I start, voice trailing away, no words seeming sufficient.

Then he kisses me.

Is this a good kiss? I don’t know. I’ve never kissed anyone before. I've never really wanted to kiss anyone before him. But it certainly _feels_ good. Simon’s mouth is warm, just like the rest of him, and the feeling spreads through my relatively cold veins. He’s just pressing his mouth against mine at first, both of us completely frozen. But then he turns his head slightly, letting his lips fit between mine, and my brain explodes.

Oh fuck it.

I kiss him back with all I’ve got, using a hand on his neck to pull him closer. Simon makes a surprised noise in his throat. But soon enough I feel his fingers tangle in my hair and he kisses me just as hard. Our mouths move fervently. Simon presses close to me. His legs tangle with mine. I clutch the collar of his shirt as hard as I can. He pulls on my hair a bit as our tongues meet, ripping groans from both of us. We’re over eager and sloppy, both obviously having no idea what we’re doing. I don’t care. Because beautiful, sweet, strong Simon Salisbury is snogging me for all I’m worth. And for just a little while, I can pretend that’s all that matters. That reality begins and ends at his mouth. No disapproving father, no boarding school, no chance that this doomed from the start.

But I know I’ll have to leave. And I’ll have to let Simon go.

We have to break apart eventually though. We’re panting hard. I open my eyes first. Simon’s face is beautifully flushed. His blue eyes flutter open but stay half lidded, and his lips are swollen and bright red. He’s such a beautiful sight. I want to look at him forever. The thought makes me smile. He smiles back, and it’s like gazing into the sun.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he says quietly.

My chest aches, and I unthinkingly clench my hand on his soft sweater. “Me too,” I sigh. “Almost since we met.”

Simon hums in approval and pushes his face into my chest. He wraps an arm around my waist, holding my shirt tightly. I cup the back of his head, putting my nose in his hair and breathing deep. He smells wonderful. Like cherries and sugar. I squeeze my eyes shut and bask in the aroma.

I can’t keep Simon, I can’t keep this, I know it. This is no longer flirting. This is so much more real, so much scarier, and it’s something I know we can’t have. Something _I_ can't have. I'm leaving, I'm a mess, I can't do this to him. This has to end after tonight. But...just not yet though. In this cruel, unforgiving world, please God, let me have this. Just for a little while.

This is goodbye, Simon. I wish you'd never met me.

* * *

 

“Baz, share the fucking booze, Jesus.” Dev snatches the whiskey from my hand. I pout pathetically.

“I was drinking that,” I slur out. I haven’t been this drunk in ages. My tolerance is pretty damn high, but I’ve downed almost an entire whiskey bottle. That’s pushing it apparently.

“What’s got you in such a mood?” Niall asks. He’s laying on the grass next to me. Dev is on my other side.

“Just feeling down,” I mutter. But that’s the understatement of the century. I’m just not sure how to tell my friends what’s happened.. How am I supposed to tell them if I can’t even tell Simon? _“Hi Simon. So, I flirted with you for fun before because I was looking for a distraction, but now I actually care for you and will probably break your heart when you find out that I used you and I shouldn't be around you anymore and have disappeared for your own good."_

Getting pissed is easier.

Niall nudges my shoulder. “Didn’t you have the English presentation today?”

I snatch the bottle from Dev and take a deep, burning gulp, then hand it to Niall. “Yup.”

“And you didn’t go to class?”

“Nope.”

“Man, pastel boy is gonna be pissed at you.”

Niall props himself up on his arm. “Y’know, I heard he’s an orphan, and he got sent here after starting a huge fire in his group home.”

I smack Niall upside the head. He yelps and whines pathetically. “Fuck off with that bollocks. Simon’s not an orphan, and he didn’t start any fires.”

Dev narrows his eyes at me. “How do you know that?”

I narrow my eyes right back. “None of your business.”

Dev makes a stupid “pbblt” sound with his lips and flops back down. I take the bottle from Niall, and I’m not giving it back. Arsehole doesn’t deserve it.

As I’m taking a drink of whiskey, my back pocket buzzes. With clumsy drunk fingers, I pull my mobile out. Fuck, it’s another text from Simon, listed as “Pretty Moron” in my phone because I think I’m funny. He’s sent a lot of messages in the past few days. My gut twists every time I read them.

 **Pretty Moron** [Monday 1:07]  
_hey <3 <3 <3 _

**Pretty Moron** [Monday 1:08]  
_i’m still thinking about u <3 <3 <3 _

**Pretty Moron** [Monday 1:12]  
_sorry ur prolly asleep txt me l8tr <3 _

**Pretty Moron** [Monday 8:07]  
_Good morning :) <3 _

**Pretty Moron** [Monday 9:42]  
_hey where r u? u skipping? txt me when u get this_

 **Pretty Moron** [Monday 11:35]  
_I don’t see u on the lawn where r u?_

 **Pretty Moron** [Monday 15:13]  
_i haven’t seen u all day u ok? txt or call me plz_

 **Pretty Moron** [Monday 21:48]  
_hope ur alright plz call me <3 _

**Pretty Moron** [Tuesday 9:38]  
_hey ur still not here_

 **Pretty Moron** [Tuesday 10:22]  
_i miss u_

 **Pretty Moron** [Tuesday 10:23]  
_srry that sounded desperate_

 **Pretty Moron** [Tuesday 11:03]  
_i just miss talking with u & shit _

**Pretty Moron** [Tuesday 11:04]  
_srry i’ll stop now_

 **Pretty Moron** [Wednesday 9:42]  
_2day is the presentation where r u?!_

 **Pretty Moron** [Wednesday 9:43]  
_baz this isn’t funny plz txt me_

 **Pretty Moron** [Wednesday 9:45]  
_i don’t want to do this on my own_

 **Pretty Moron** [Wednesday 9:46]  
_fine u prick b like that_

 **Pretty Moron** [Wednesday 10:12]  
_fuck u baz i hope ur having fun or whatever i hated that_

 **Pretty Moron** [Wednesday 10:15]  
_i thought u were gonna b there 4 me_

 **Pretty Moron** [Wednesday 11:20]  
_idk if i did something but i’m srry plz just call me tell me ur ok_

 **Pretty Moron** [Wednesday 14:06]  
_ok i get the message i’ll really stop now_

 **Pretty Moron** [Wednesday 18:01]  
_bye baz_

“Shit man, are you okay?” Dev asks.

It’s only then I feel the few tears running down my cheek. I wipe them away quickly. “Fuck off, I’m fine. Just drunk.”

“O...kay. Wanna share that?”

I quickly drink down the rest of the bottle, then toss it behind me while looking Dev right in the eye. “No.”

Dev flips me off then flops back down on the ground. I look up at the stars for moment but quickly shut my eyes. They remind me too much of Simon’s freckles. The one’s I traced while I held him in my arms, that I kissed lightly when I dropped him at his house afterwards, that I’ve reluctantly dreamt about for nights.

I never thought I could hate myself more than I already did. But boy was I wrong. I want to disappear or implode or something. I want to go back in time so I never let myself enter Simon's life. But I just close my eyes, and try to will away the tears I can feel forming. Huh, this is the first time I’ve actually cried about something other than my Mum. I really hate it.

I’m sorry, Simon. I’m so sorry. This is for you're own good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Baz's logic flawed? Yeah, totally. But he's Baz, so he's self destructive af. While writing this, I worked from the assumption that Baz doesn't think he deserves happiness. He thinks he's toxic and horrible and in his mind he's saving Simon from him. And part of this self destructiveness definitely comes being traumatized by watching his mum die. He couldn't save her and he's still punishing himself for it. Yeah, he's a fucking idiot, I know. I wanted to smack him during this, and I wrote it! I hope it seems in character. I tried to make it in character and make sense, and I needed the obligatory fall out angst. Sorry if it's bad/weird. I'm trying. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Chapter title is from "With Me" by Sum 41


	7. i'm alone in my mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz has been avoiding Simon, but he can't run forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I felt bad about leaving y'all on that ending on the last chapter, and I got off work early, so I'm posting a day earlier than usual. Yay! Just like last time I’m super nervous about posting this. But I’ve edited this thing to death and at some point you just gotta say “fuck it” and throw it out there lol. Hope this makes sense and hope y’all like this :)

I’m walking out of the corner store at night with a new pack of cigarettes when I spot him. I’d recognize that white hoodie anywhere. His back is to me though, so I have the time to turn on my heels and speed walk in the other direction. But I’m still a bit buzzed, so I walk right into a pole.

“Fuck!” I shout.

I turn my head just as Simon does. I see the recognition in his eyes. Shit. I start walking faster.

“Hey, Baz,” he yells after me. “Hey! Slow down, you wanker!”

I don't slow down. In fact, I speed up, body bent forward as I walk faster towards the parkette. But soon something grabs my shoulder and stops me in my tracks. Simon spins me around with his deceptive strength. His face is the epitome of fury, like that day in the park. I work hard to keep my expression neutral, make it look like I don’t care. Maybe if he hates me he'll stop chasing after me. I won't tell him about Switzerland though. It'll be better for him if he thinks I'm just a cold arsehole, not the idiotic monster who accidentally broke his heart.

“Yes, Salisbury?” I say cooly.

“Don’t you do that,” he growls. “Don’t you pretend you don’t know, arsehole. Where the hell have you been?! You haven’t been answering my texts, and you haven’t shown up for school in almost a week. You left me alone at the presentation! So, what the hell?!”

I shrug. “I didn’t want to answer and I haven’t felt like coming to class. That's all”

His scowl deepens. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.”

He groans in frustration. “You can’t tell me that’s it!”

“Well, it is.” Well, it's all I'm willing to say. Knowing about Switzerland will absolutely destroy him, I know it. I can't do that.

“What happened to, this, Baz?!” He gestures wildly between us. “This thing we have. Like, a...a relationship, right?”

Simon looks ready for murder, and I do everything to not react. I cross my arms over my chest so he doesn’t see that I’m digging my nails into my palm. “I don’t want a relationship. Not anymore.”

His eyes pop out of his skull, hands falling from his hips. He looks less angry now, more shocked, more sad. No no, be angry, Simon. You deserve to. Blame me, hate me. I deserve it. “But, no. You-You’ve flirting with me for over a month, you said I was cute, you kissed me-”

 _“You_ kissed _me,_ Salisbury,” I snap without thinking. Fucking hell, stay calm Baz. Take the goddamn blame.

“And _you_ kissed _me_ back, Baz! I thought you wanted this! Us!”

I cross my arms, subtly taking a deep breath. “I don’t. I’ve decided that, nothing to do with you, just me. End of story.”

His expression breaks, and my heart along with it. He stumbles backwards, running his hands through his hair, pulling on his curls. His breathing is heavy. This is exactly what I didn't want. I've fucked up so bad. I want to run and hug him. But I don’t think I have the right anymore. 

“No,” he whispers, “no, you...you can’t, actually be like this. Penny said, but- you were so...” He looks at me again, but not with anger or shock like I hoped. He looks so sorrowful and it kills me. “Was all that stuff about your arsehole Dad and dead Mum just to make you seem like this secretly vulnerable bad boy? But the whole time, was I just some...conquest for you? You made me like you and kissed me and now that you’ve gotten what you want, you’re done? So you, you’re...”

He sighs heavily still grabbing at his hair. “Y’know, you were the first person other than Penny who talked to me. Everyone else stays away from the weird boy who wears pink sweaters and nail polish. Just like Dad said. But you didn’t. You were nice to me, called me cute, made me laugh. Penny warned me it was an act, that you actually were just some screw up dickhead. But I didn’t believe her, because you were kind to me and I knew there had to be more to you. But...but, Christ, Pen _was_ right. You really were just messing with me. And I was the fool who fell for it.” He looks at me with big, wet blue eyes. “You...you never liked me at all, did you? It really was all lies. I was just too stupid to see it.”

Simon lets out a choked sob. He wipes off his cheek with his sleeve, sniffing loudly. My heart has completely shattered in my chest. My arms have fallen to my sides. Fuck, this isn’t what I wanted. He should be screaming at me, calling me a prick, throwing all the blame on me so he doesn’t take any himself. But instead he looks sad, hopeless, and I did that. I'm such a curse.

He looks back up at me, but I can’t say anything. Because I know if I start talking, I’ll start crying as well. Simon’s lip press together as he nods.

“I’ll...I’ll just go now,” he whispers. “There’s nothing left to say, I guess. Bye forever, Baz. Hope you had your fun.” The last comment makes me flinch, but I certainly deserve it.

He starts walking away, hands in his hoodie pockets, slumped over. I just watch for a bit. Watch as the person I adore so much falls apart. Because I did that to him. Fuck me, everything hurts. I should be relieved. He never wants to be around me again. I can't hurt him anymore, but he thinks it's his fault. I can’t bear what I’ve done. He can’t blame himself, it’s _my_ fault. He should know why.

Oh, fuck it.

“Simon, wait!” I run after him. He turns around, looking so exasperated.

“What now?” he sighs.

“Simon, listen, I'm sorry. You're not an idiot. I think you’re incredible and kind and I like you so fucking much. It’s just that, we can’t be together. ”

“What is that supposed to mean? Why the fuck not? Because you've decided you don't want to? You've already told me that.”

“No! Not exactly.” I drag a hand across my tense forehead. “It’s- Simon, it’s not that. There's a real reason, I promise.”

He growls like a caged dog. Of course he gets angry when I need him to be calm and listening to me. “Why the fuck should I believe you?! You just dropped off the face of the Earth with no explanation and acted like a prick!”

I shake my head. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you the reason. I thought it would be better if I just disappeared, that it wouldn't hurt you as much"

Simon scoffs, and it pierces my heart. “Well, you've already hurt me, so mission failed.”

I press my lips together. Dammit I have. This was all so pointless, and I'm so stupid. “I know. Just, I thought you would be better off forgetting me and moving on. I thought the truth would hurt you so much more. But you deserve to know it's not your fault."

He crosses his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes. “What the fuck are you on about?”

My mouth twists, and my heart feels heavy. “I'll tell you. But you're going to hate me. Actually, truly hate me, and I'll deserve it. It's all my fault.”

His eyes grow wide. I jerk my head over towards the small bench. Simon follows me as I sit down heavily. Silence hangs in the air a awhile as I work up the nerve. This is so much harder than I thought it would be.

“So,” Simon says with a twinge of annoyance, “are you actually going to tell me?”

“Yes,” I hiss. “Just...give me a second.” I sigh, fiddling with my jacket sleeve. Well, here goes nothing. “Simon, we can’t be together because...my father is sending me out of town very soon. And I'm probably not coming back for a long time. We can’t have a real relationship before I go. It’s not fair to you Simon. I wish I told you sooner but I was selfish and I wanted to pretend we could just be happy. I’m so sorry.”

I keep staring at the ground. It’s too scary to look at him right now. Simon’s quiet for a long time. I wait for him to speak again.

“What?” he whispers. “B-But why are you being sent away?”

“Because of my father's standards,” I mutter. “My marks have been plummeting since last year, of course. He’s not happy. So he gave me an ultimatum at the beginning of term; get a good average or get sent to a wayward boy's school in Switzerland. I refuse to bend to his will, so, Swiss boarding school it is.”

Simon stays silent for what feels like forever. When he speaks, his voice is barely a whisper. “When exactly? When are you, going?”

“The day after marks come out probably. The school will call my father if I fail. He’ll want me there as soon as possible.”

“And you’ve known this since the start of term?”

“Yeah.”

“So, since you met me?”

I dig my nails into my thigh. “Literally the evening of the day we first met,” I mutter.

Simon goes silent again. I don’t dare look at him. I’m too much of a coward. I focus on the green grass and the chirping crickets instead. It’s easier to pretend that this is just another peaceful night.

“So,” he says quietly, “you really were just messing with me? You knew you were going to go from the start but flirted with me anyway? Just using me, huh?”

I shake my head. “No no, that’s not it. Well, not it exactly.”

“What does that mean?!” he snaps.

I groan, tilting my head back over the bench. Exactly what I feared. I deserve it though. I was an idiot. “It started out as just fun. I thought you were cute and I wanted to distract myself from my impending doom.” Simon growls, and I don’t blame him. “But, then I got know you. You’re so, kind and brave and...just amazing. That was worse though, because I was using you, and worst of all, I could really hurt you. But I kept telling myself it was okay. It was still only flirting and friendship. We weren’t actually dating so I could keep just being around you, pretending it was all okay for a little while longer.”

“But then I kissed you,” he whispers with slight horror. I let out a long breath.

“Yeah,” I sigh, “then you kissed me. And everything suddenly became too real and scary. So I resolved I needed to stay away from you because I could only bring you more pain. That’s why I’ve been avoiding you. I just...I didn’t want to break your heart. Or my own, I suppose. I'm truly sorry for putting you through that, Simon.”

He scoffs. “So what was that before, huh? You being nice?”

“No, of course not. I was just...” I groan and rub my forehead. “I thought it’d be easier for us if you blamed it all on me just being a cold dickhead. Then you could be righteously angry instead of heartbroken. And...maybe I just didn't want you to know how awful I've been to you. I like you, and I'm a coward. I'm just, sorry."

Surprisingly, Simon doesn’t scream at me. Or even berate me. In fact, the bastard fucking giggles. I finally turn to look at him. He’s covering his mouth, trying to contain the little sounds behind his hand. He looks at me with an amused smile. “That was a really stupid idea.”

A chuckle bubbles out of my mouth. I run a hand through my hair. “Yeah, I know. It made sense like five minutes ago.”

“Guess you were an idiot five minutes ago.”

“I suppose I was.”

He starts giggling again, and I join in. Soon we’re laughing uncontrollably. Our sounds ring loud in the empty darkness. I’m not sure what we’re laughing at. But it feels good, to laugh, to be happy. Lately, it seems I’m only happy with Simon. Not adrenaline filled or high on danger. Just...happy. That makes everything so much worse.

After what feels like forever, we finally start to calm down. Simon’s looking up at the night sky. The same night sky we saw when we first kissed. Maybe when I’m in Switzerland, I’ll look up at night and I’ll remember him. Remember the good times.

“Well,” I sigh, “I’m not coming back to school anytime soon. So, goodbye Simon. I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused you." I look him right in his big blue eyes. I'll certainly never want to forget what they look like. "It’s been really nice knowing you. I mean it.”

I stand up and start to walk away from him forever, but Simon’s hand grabs my wrist. I stop in my tracks. When I look at Simon, his eyes are round and sad. I’m not sure how much more of his sorrow my heart can take.

“So, that’s it?” he says quietly. “This is over?”

I nod slowly. “I think it has to be, Simon. I’m going away. I've already hurt you too much. It wouldn’t be good for you, for either of us."

“But, you’re only going away because of your low grades right?”

“Yes. I already told you, my father-”

“What if you had the grades he wanted though?”

I blink at him. He’s not joking. “Well, I haven’t gone to most of my classes all term. My average is pretty well in the shitter.”

“But what if you really tried on the exams? Get all As and maybe your average will be good enough for him.”

“Simon,” I sigh. "That won't work."n

“No!” He stands up so we’re on equal ground. Though he’s still three inches shorter than me. “No, you can’t leave without a fight.”

I cross my arms, trying to suppress a scowl. “It wouldn’t be fighting. It would be giving in to my father’s whims, and I refuse to do that anymore.”

Simon rolls his eyes like Bunce does. “C’mon Baz, you’re smarter than that.”

Okay, that makes me angry. I don’t try to suppress the scowl anymore. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he jabs a finger into my chest, “you’re _not_ being some badass rebel by not going to class. You’re doing exactly what your father wants. And he’s going to win by getting to send you away. I mean, Baz, wouldn’t you rather stay?”

I feel rather than see his hand take mine. Without thinking, I reach up and touch his cheek with the other. He leans into it. Despite everything I've done, what an idiot I've been, he still cares. My whole body feels warm.

“Yes,” I say. “Yes, I really would.”

“Then why not at least try? You’re really smart, Baz, I know it! You could do well on your exams.”

“Except I have no idea what we learned in class,” I chuckle.

Simon’s face splits into a grin. He grabs my hand tight. “I could help you with that, actually. If you want, that is. Do you want my help?”

I’m both intrigued and worried. But I still nod slowly. “If you’re offering.”

Simon nods rapidly, somehow smiling even wider. “Good, good, okay. And...” He looks at the ground, shuffling his feet and squeezing my hand. “You’re here for at least another month, right?”

“Um, yes.” I’m not sure where he’s going with this.

“Alright. So...” He gulps visibly. “We may not have all the time in the world, but we have some. Could we spend it, together?”

My eyebrow quirks up. “What are you saying, Salisbury?”

“I’m saying I want to be your boyfriend,” he blurts out. “Like, I _really_ want to, but be warned I’ve never been anyone’s boyfriend before so I have no idea what to do. I’ll probably be pretty terrible. B-But I would like to try this, with you. Seize the time we have."

My heart is beating out of my chest. This can't be true. He can't still want me. "How?" I whisper. "How can you forgive me? After everything I've done?"

He locks eyes with me and doesn't look away. There's a fire there. Not from anger though, but from determination."Because, Baz, you talked to me, watched my music videos, told me my art was good, made me smile all the time. I'm glad I met you, no matter why you first said hi to me. Like, I think you're a good guy with a lot of issues who made some shitty choices. Ones you're not going not to make anymore, right?" I nod immediately, meaning it with every fibre of my being. He smiles his sunshine smile. By god, I've missed that smile. "Yeah, exactly. So I want to be with you for as long as I can. I don't care if it's only a month. Do you want this?"

I grip his hand tighter, tilting his chin up to meet my eyes. His face is that lovely scarlet again. “You’re an idiot,” I sigh with utter affection. He frowns adorably. “But you can certainly have this if you want.”

He lets out a relieved breath. “I do.”

Without a second thought, I lean down to kiss him. I can’t help it. He's amazing and wonderful and has somehow found it in his big heart to forgive me. His mouth moulds to mine instantly, arms encircling my waist and pressing us together. I slowly bury my fingers in his thick curls. Christ, I want this so much. I want him more than anything. Maybe this is selfish, but he wants it too. We’re both taking the risk, plunging in head first.

I just hope it won’t end in flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I'm not a monster. I'm a giant softy who can't keep their boys apart for too long. I hope this resolution makes sense, and there wasn't too much exposition. My idea at the end was that Simon forgives Baz because he gets it. He understands the self loathing cause he's had similar issues, and he gets that Baz did bad things for the right reasons. Idk if I got that across well enough. I wanted to make that clear. I also have a pathological need to explain my writing decisions so this is sorta therapeutic lol. I hope y'all liked this. Now Simon and Baz are together. What shall happen? Can they get through this together? Hmmmm we'll see next time :D
> 
> Chapter title is from "Alone" by Halsey.


	8. no one's ever gonna tear us apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The start of a relationship is always very exciting. Baz finds he's no exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I skipped work today so this is getting posted early. I hate my job and my shitty employers so I have no qualms about skipping. So this chapter is like, almost pure fluff. Ya'll deserve that after getting through chapters 6 and 7 lol. So I hope you enjoy this :D

For once, I’m not dreading school today. Well, not totally dreading it. I don’t look forward to all my classmate’s weird looks when I walk into there for the first time in months. But it’s a small price to pay for a chance with Simon. A chance at lasting happiness.

“Hey, Baz! Where you off to?” I turn to see Dev and Niall in our usual spot. I saunter over towards them.

“Actually,” I say, “I’m off to class.”

Niall raises an eyebrow. “Class? On _time?_ _"_

“Yeah. I’m hoping to boost my grades.”

“Since when do you care about that?”

“Hey Baz!”

I turn my head with a grin. Simon is practically skipping towards me. He’s wearing a blue shirt with pale pink roses on it and a matching mini rose flower crown. His smile shows all his pearly white teeth. With no hesitation, he puts an arm around my waist and leans up to kiss my cheek. I turn my head slightly so I peck his lips. They’re soft and warm, of course. Simon hums as he pulls away, resting his head in the crook of my neck. I put an arm around his shoulders. I’m amused by the gaping mouths of my friend and cousin. Niall even drops his cigarette.

“Since this,” I say cheerfully. “So, confession: If I don’t get good enough grades, Father will send me to boarding school in Switzerland. If I want to stay here, I need to do well. I was ready to give up until Simon convinced me otherwise.”

“I’m very convincing,” Simon purrs.

“Yes you certainly are, love.” I lean my cheek against his soft hair. “Sorry I didn’t tell you two earlier. I just didn’t want you to spend our last bit of time together worrying. But I’m going to try now so you don’t have to worry, alright?”

“Oh, okay,” Dev stutters out. “Glad to hear it.”

“Uh, I guess congrats are in order for you two,” Niall says.

“Thank you,” Simon chirps.

I roll my eyes. “We’re not married, arsehole. Just dating.”

“Took you long enough.” Dev takes a drag and smirks around his exhale.

I glare. “Fuck off, dickhead. I’ll-”

Of course, that’s when the bell rings. Usually I’d ignore it. But not anymore. I groan and look at Simon with an exasperated smile.

“Time for English?” I say.

He grins up at me, tugging me a bit closer. “Yup. On time.”

“Very well. So long, lads. See you later.”

Dev and Niall wave goodbye as I turn Simon and I towards the entrance. He keeps his head on my shoulder, thumb tracing light patterns on my side. Simon does that. It’s one of the many small things I’ve found I like about us being together.

Miss Possibelf’s eyes go very wide when she sees us walk in. I appreciate that her shock seems to be more about me being present than Simon and I being wrapped up in each other. She watches me with confusion as we sit down. Simon is still holding my hand under the desk.

“Basilton,” Miss Possibelf says slowly, like she’s saying my name for the first time. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Miss,” I reply.

“You missed your presentation last week.”

“Yes, I know, and I’m very sorry about that. I won’t be missing anymore classes.”

Miss Possibelf gives me a curious and slightly doubtful expression. “Really?”

“Really. I swear on my mother’s grave.”

That makes her eyes practically pop out. I’m certainly not known for talking about my mother, let alone her death. She nods slowly. “I see. Well, I trust you to be true to your word.”

I nod once firmly. “I will. And Simon will keep me in line.” I lift up our joined hands. Simon goes red and knocks my shoulder.

“Shut up,” he chuckles.

Miss lets out a small breathy laugh. “Very well.” She walks behind her desk. “Now, class, let’s get started.”

The lesson begins, and I do pay far more attention than usual. But I also notice people looking at Simon and I, and they are _very_ shocked. I doubt it’s because we’re two blokes though. No one’s particularly homophobic at Watford. It probably has more to do with the punk rock reject in a Sex Pistols shirt and flower crown wearing angel spending the whole class with their heads together. It must be a strange sight to behold. Not that I care, they can stare and gape all they want. I’m not wasting my time with Simon worrying about what others think.

I’d rather focus on how he traces his thumb over the back of my wrist, or taps his foot softly against mine, or yawns before putting his head on my shoulder to create an excuse, like he needs one.

This is everything I could ever want. And I’m going to fight like hell to keep it.

* * *

 

“Simon,” I groan, “where are you dragging me? I thought you wanted to eat lunch.”

“Just follow me,” he says cheerfully as he pulls on my arm. He’s been dragging me across the lawn for a good ten minutes.

“I am, but I’m still confused.”

He turns to me for a second, flashing those brilliant blue eyes and bright smile. My knees get _very_ weak. “Trust me, okay?”

My mouth quirks up and I grip his hand. Yes, Simon, I do trust you, more than anyone. “Okay.”

Simon nods, then keeps dragging me. We soon reach a big tree near the edge of the field. He brings me around it then stops. And my stomach is suddenly full of stones.

“Hey Pen!” Simon chirps.

Penelope Bunce looks up at us with a furrowed brow. She’s in the middle of lunch, her mouth still filled with sandwich. Her eyes flick from our faces to our linked hands, and her shoulders slump.

“You really weren’t joking about him last week,” she groans.

Simon frowns. “No, did you think I was?”

“I _hoped_ you were. Seriously, Si, he’s a total arsehole. He fucking ghosted you!”

“There’s a lot more to him, Penny. And he's really sorry about that.”

“Yeah, okay, still an arsehole.”

“I’m standing right here, you know,” I grumble.

Penelope glares daggers at me. “Yes, I know.”

I growl, ready to spit all venom I have. But Simon grips my hand and kicks my heel quite hard. I turn to glare at him, but he glares right back. It’s very clear neither Bunce or I are getting out of whatever this is.

“Penny,” Simon says evenly, “I’m going to get straight to the point: Baz needs your help. And don’t give me that look, Baz, you do. You’re very smart but you said it yourself, you have no idea what’s been going on in class. Penelope does though. So, Penny, could you tutor Baz for exams?”

Bunce blinks at us. Her eyes are bigger than a pair of footballs. I don’t blame her. I feel like either running or fainting or both. Simon looks serious. Fucking Hell, he _actually_ wants Penelope Bunce to help me. I try to think of an alternative, but nothing comes to mind. Bunce is the smartest person in our class (next to me of course.) She’d know exactly what to teach me. Goddammit, my lovely idiot boyfriend has the right idea.

“This is insane,” Bunce moans, rubbing her face.

“Please, Pen?” Simon begs. “If Baz doesn’t pass his exams, his Dad will send him away. And that would make me _really_ sad.”

Bunce gives him a withering look. “Seriously?”

Simon tugs me closer, making me stumble a bit. When he speaks, his voice is firm, completely unshakable in it’s own assurance. “Yes, seriously.”

As if my heart needed more strain.

Bunce’s eyes flick between us for a few more seconds, but soon she sighs and hangs her head. “Fine,” she groans. “I’ll help Basilton.”

“Thank you thank you!” Simon throws himself at Penny, more crushing than hugging her. I hide my laughter behind a hand. She still sees though, as she flips me off behind Simon’s back.

“Meet me in the library after school at 3:35 sharp, Basil,” she says once Simon pulls back. “Do not be late.”

I make an X over my chest. “Cross my heart, Bunce.”

She glares again, and I glare back. We’re interrupted when Simon pulls my arm so I fall to the ground. It takes me a second to get reoriented, and when I do, Simon has already positioned himself in my lap. He sits between my legs with his head in the crook of my neck and back against my chest. Christ, he’s so warm. I wrap my arms around his waist, sighing into his curls, just sinking into the sensation of him against me.

Bunce makes a gagging noise. “Okay, nope, this is my limit. I’m out of here.”

“Pen,” Simon groans. “C’mon.”

“Simon, I agreed to help your badly chosen boyfriend with studies, not to suffer through your couple-y grossness. I’ll see you later in class, okay?”

Simon sighs. “Alright, fine. Thank you again.”

“Yeah yeah, welcome.” She points a finger at him. “And you owe me big time.”

“That’s fair. Bye, Pen.”

“Farewell, Bunce,” I say with only a hint of mocking. Bunce still glares before turning around and stomping off.

“Well,” I sigh with exasperation, “she’s not pleased with me.”

“She’ll come around,” Simon replies before taking a big bite from his chicken wrap.

“You sure about that?”

“Penny wants me to be happy, and you make me happy. She’s smart, she’ll get that eventually.”

I hum in semi agreement, letting my head fall back against the tree. Simon continues eating, soon finishing his wrap and moving onto dessert. Because of course even lunch needs dessert with him. He keeps shoving his sour cherry scone in my face though.

“Simon, I’m fine, eat your own pastry,” I grumble.

“You need to eat, Baz. You’re too skinny.”

I give him a disapproving look, but he just raises an eyebrow like I do. Damn him for learning. “You sound like your grandmother, Salisbury.”

“I love my Gran, so that’s a compliment. Now eat, please.”

He sticks it in my face again. I take a bite, only if to shut him up. It is delicious though, very sugary and cherry filled. No wonder Simon loves them. Simon grins, leaning up and kissing my cheek. Okay, that makes his pestering worth it. In return, I lean down and kiss him firmly on the mouth. He yelps but quickly kisses me back, tasting like cherries and happiness.

 

* * *

 

The library is surprisingly empty when I get there. Guess Watford students don’t study here. At least it makes Penelope easy to spot. Not that she blends in to begin with, what with the wild purple hair and thick rimmed glasses. She’s bent over a table, scribbling madly on some paper. She doesn’t even notice me when I’m sitting right next to her.

“I’m on time,” I drawl.

Bunce whirls in her chair so we’re eye to eye. She’s completely unflinching. “Let’s make something very clear here, Basilton,” she says firmly. “I don’t like you. At all. And I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing it for Simon. Because for some goddamn reason he cares about you despite your arsehole-ness. Honestly though, I have no idea what he sees in a dickhead like you.”

I shift a bit in my chair. It’s hard to not let her words get to me. “Don’t worry, Bunce, I know exactly where we stand. If it makes you feel any better, I have no idea what he sees in me either. But I promise, I do care about Simon, quite a lot. And I thank you for helping me try to stay here with him.”

Bunce blinks rapidly. She seems to be looking for dishonesty in my face, but she won’t find any. Slowly, she turns back to her notes. “Alright...sure. Let’s just, get started.”

She flips her papers to the beginning and pulls out a history textbook. It hits the desk with a loud thunk. The other few library patrons grumble, but Bunce doesn’t seem to care at all. Hm, I can admire that.

“Now,” she begins like a proper teacher, “French history. We started with pre-revolution events leading up, so-”

“We can skip pre-revolution,” I interrupt. “I already read that chapter last year.”

Bunce gives me a doubtful look from over her glasses. “Really.”

I sigh heavily. “Fine. It starts with the costly war and poor harvests, forcing Louis XVI having to call an assembly. Then...”

I start counting off on my fingers all the lead up events still stowed away in my memory. Along with the textbook, I used to read a lot of my mother’s old books, and the French revolution was always fascinating. Bunce’s eyes go wider with each word. By the time I’m done, she looks like a deer in the headlights.

“Have I proven my knowledge?” I ask with a mocking drawl.

“Uh, yeah,” she stutters. “Can’t believe you still know that shit.”

I scoff, crossing my arms. “What, did you think all my intelligence dribbled out my ears when I bought a motorcycle?”

“Honestly, yes.” I glare. She smiles smugly. “Now, how are you on Napoleonic France and his wars?”

“I-” The single finger I’m holding up falls. Because I never read the Napoleon chapters of of my mother’s books. Those never really interested me as much. Bunce immediately understands, her grin getting impossibly more smug.

“Let’s start with Napoleon then.”

Bunce turns out to be a decent teacher. I hate to admit it, but I learn a lot from her. She’s a bit fast and smart mouthed, but mind you, so am I. And I’m willing to put up with every sarcastic comment if it means I can get As on my exam. If I can stay here, with Simon.

“For fuck’s sake, Pitch, keep up,” Bunce snaps. “You’re slower than a drunk tortoise.”

Yup, totally worth it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short but fluffy right? And Simon wears his flower crown when he's excited. Hope you all enjoyed this. Next chapter will be up in two to three days :)
> 
> Chapter title is from "Oh Oh I Love Her So" by The Ramones


	9. tell me what you want this to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Baz have a much needed talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the summary sounds ominous but just trust me, it'll all be okay. The chapters are shorter but much fluffier now. Enjoy :)

It doesn’t take me as long to find pebbles this time. There’s a nice little pile right there on the lawn, like it’s waiting for me. Maybe mother nature is on my side. It’d be nice to have a primordial deity cheering on a pathetic, lovesick punk like me. I chuck the rocks easily at the window, hitting the glass with tiny clinks. This time, it only takes three for Simon to open his window. Though he looks just as shocked as the first time I did this.

“Baz? What the hell are you doing here?!” He hisses. But is that a blush I see on his cheeks?

“I wanted to see you,” I say, voice dripping in smug sweetness.

“In the middle of the night?!”

“You’ve subjected me to Penelope Bunce for almost two weeks, Salisbury. You can take a little sleep disturbance.”

He glares, but his cheeks are still pink. “We both have phones. And I could’ve come over to your’s.”

“Yes, but I’m the one with a motorbike and a disregard for curfews. Now, may I come in?”

Simon chews on his lip nervously. “Gran is night owl, so she's probably still up. And she knows we’re dating and likes you, but she’s also old and sort of traditional...”

I sigh with mock disappointment. I already anticipated this, and I always have a plan. “Very well. I’ll just use the more direct route.”

Simon’s brow furrows. “Direct route? What-”

I dash forward on Simon’s front lawn, then jump up onto the garden trellis. I hear Simon make a very surprised and frightened yelp noise. Climbing is easy enough. Even after quitting football, I’m still quite strong. I reach the overhang over the front porch, then crawl up to Simon’s window, where the boy himself is looking at me with a gaping mouth.

“You are absolutely insane,” he whispers.

“And that’s news?” I purr.

“Well, no, I-I guess not, but- mmph!”

I cut his words off easily with my mouth. I didn’t ride here late at night to listen to him stutter and ramble. I could’ve done that over the phone. Simon flails for a second, but soon melts into it. He wraps his arm around my neck and pulls me inside. Climbing through a window while kissing proves difficult, but I’m determined. I stumble in with uncoordinated limbs and nearly trip over the carpet. Simon laughs, just barely catching me.

“Careful,” he giggles between our mouths.

“With you?” I reply. “I never am.”

Simon giggles even more. I encircle his waist, pressing us together. He’s wearing fleece pyjama pants. I love how they feel against my fingers. Feeling a bit bold, I move my hands a bit lower, nearing the top his arse. I pull back slightly, just enough room between us to let me whisper.

“Is this okay?”

Simon nods, suddenly grabbing my wrists himself and pulling them down further. I freeze up for a second. Damn, okay, he’s bold. Should’ve guessed considering how our first kiss went. My surprise fades quickly. I can definitely work with bold. He kisses me hard again, and I firmly grab his behind, making him adorably yelp. I chuckle. He digs his nails into my scalp, then does something even more surprising; he jumps up and wraps his legs around my torso. I stumble, barely saving myself from completely toppling over. Instead I gracefully fall down on my arse.

“Sorry,” Simon mumbles.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” I whisper, pressing a hand into the small of his back.

Simon chuckles and keeps kissing me, thank god. I think I would explode if he stopped kissing me. He pushes at my shoulder, and I let myself fall back onto the old carpet. It scratches at my neck but I couldn’t care less. Because Simon is on all fours above me, making me reach for his mouth. And I do, again and again. My heart is beating so fast it feels like it's going to burst.

My god, I think I might be falling in love.

 

* * *

 

I don’t know what time it is. Only that it’s later than nine and I’m tired. My mouth feels sore from all the kissing, not that I’ll complain. Quite the opposite, really. Simon’s on his back next to me. His eyes are closed, and his hand is loosely holding mine. He squeezes me and I involuntarily yelp.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers with genuine concern.

“It’s nothing,” I lie smoothly.

Simon doesn’t listen of course (he never does), immediately lifting my hand up to his face. I see his eye widen very quickly.

“You...sliced your hand?”

“Slice is an exaggeration, Simon,” I sigh. “It’s a paper cut. Well, two paper cuts.”

Dev and Niall laughed at me when they saw the stupid wound. Because with the two cuts together, they look vaguely like a cross. I’ve always joked that the church would have a problem with me, and Niall said this cut was ‘real proof.’ Annoying wanker.

“Why do you have two paper cuts?” Simon asks with real concern.

I frown. “Blame your friend. She made me find three specific passages of ‘War and Peace’ in under a minute. She literally timed me. Those pages were sharp.”

He snorts out a laugh. “Sounds like Pen. Works you to the bone.”

“Damn right. Bloody medieval torturer.”

He snorts again, the wonderful tosser. I jolt when something wet and warm presses against the cuts. It takes me a second to realise it’s Simon’s kissing my cuts better. And I nearly melt into the floor.

“Sorry,” he says right into my skin.

I shuffle closer, turning on my side and pushing my nose into his messy hair. I’ve found it’s one of my favourite things to do with him. “Don’t apologize, love, Not your fault your friend is a tiny nightmare.”

He rolls against me and puffs a breathy laugh against my shoulder, putting our linked hands between us. We’re silent for a long while, but I don’t mind. I could never talk again as long as Simon is next to me. Considering my love of sarcasm, that’s quite a sacrifice.

“It’s really what you want, right?” Simon says, voice a bit shaky.

“Hm?” I crack open an eye. Simon is fiddling with his shirt hem, pointedly looking at that instead of me.

“All of this, all the hard work to stay, you really want to?”

I blink at him, completely dumbfounded for words for a few seconds. “I thought it was already pretty clear I wanted to stay, considering I’m injuring and demeaning myself to your friend for the better chance of it.”

Simon nods slowly. “Y-Yeah, right, of course. Shit I don’t how to say it.” He groans, gripping my hand almost painfully tight. “I guess I’m trying to ask...when this is all done, do you want to stay, with me?”

My heart seizes painfully and my stomach drops out. I open my eyes and look down at Simon. He’s fidgeting madly, chewing on his lip. “Simon,” I say with true worry, “do you think I won’t?”

He shrugs high then drops his shoulders low. “I don’t know.”

 _“Simon,_ don’t do that. Fucking talk to me.”

He groans, rolling away and onto his front, burying his face in his arms. Yeah, there’s nothing Simon Salisbury hates more than anything than talking about shit. “It’s stupid.”

I shuffle closer and put my hand near him but touching. I don’t want to scare him off. “It’s not stupid if you’re worried about it. Just tell me.”

“It’s just...” he whispers, then taking a deep breath. “It’s just that this is all really exciting and fun y’know? The two of us together. And I like it. I’ve never had a boyfriend or girlfriend or anything before and being with you has been really amazing. But, what happens when you stay? Does the excitement go away along with the threat of you leaving? Does this...fizzle out? Because I don’t want it to. I, like you so much. B-But what if it does and you get bored with me or something and run off with another badass biker just like you and-”

“Simon!” I hiss a bit too loudly, but at least it gets him to stop rambling. His eyes are big and doe like, so open and vulnerable. “Stop, just stop.”

He quickly hides back behind his arms. “Sorry,” he whispers ashamed.

“No no, I’m not mad. Just...” I take a deep breath. “Simon, let me be very clear; I’m not going to get _bored_ with you.”

Slowly, he peeks out, a sliver of his beautiful blue eye showing. “Really?”

I place a hand on his upper back. He tenses only for a second, then breathes out a sigh and relaxes under me. “Yes. I meant what I said the night on the hill. I’ve wanted you almost since we first met. You are incredible. You make me feel happier than I have in years. And if I stay, you are certainly the last thing I’d ever get tired of.”

His head has slowly raised up as I’ve spoken, his cheek now resting on his bicep. A smile threatens to cross his face but he still won’t let it. “You mean it?”

“Of course. I’m a badass, not an arsehole.”

That finally makes him laugh and smile, and I feel very accomplished. He quickly curls himself into my arms. I gladly hold him close. He traces circles on my collarbone, almost reaching into my shirt but not quite. Courteous, but part of me wishes he’d just rip the damn thing off.

“You should say ‘when’, “ he says into my chest.

“What now?” I chuckle.

“Stop saying ‘if I stay’. Should say ‘when I stay’ instead. You’re gonna stay.”

My grip on him tightens, fingers working into his hair and pressing into the small of his back. The anxiety burns through my veins, the bottom of my stomach completely dropping out. The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“What if I don’t stay?”

Simon tenses against me, fingers curling on my shirt collar. “Do you...want to leave?”

“No,” I sigh. “Of course I want to stay, you git. But I like to be prepared for all possibilities. And there is a possibility I’ll go.”

I feel more than see him glup, and his hand bunches up my shirt. “O-Okay. What do we have to prepare for?”

“Well, it’s a school for wayward boys in another country. I’ll be very far away. And I would bet my Chanel nail polish that there will be no cell phones allowed. So we won’t be able to text or call.”

“That sucks. Maybe I could e-mail you?”

“I doubt there will be internet either.”

“Oh right. Yeah that makes sense...” he trails off. “Then I guess I’ll send you paper mail like I’m from a thousand years ago,” he says with only slight sarcasm.

I roll my eyes and shove his shoulder. “Okay sure.”

“What, don’t believe me?”

I raise a brow, pulling back to get a better look at him. He’s grinning ear to ear. “You’ll actually send letters to me like an old fashioned suitor wooing his country girl?”

He keeps smiling. “Yeah. It’ll be fun!”

Damn his unending oppotism. It’s adorable and infuriating. I groan and roll onto my back, dragging a hand over my face. “Yes, Simon, it will be the first few times. Then you’ll get frustrated with the communication gap and our lack of real life contact and just stop sending them. Soon enough we’ll lose touch and this will be over.”

It's hard to say, but it's necessary. Of course I'll be with him if I stay, but there's still a huge chance I'll have to go. It can't last after that. Right? Simon doesn’t talk or move for awhile. His head is still resting on my bicep. But slowly, he shifts closer so his forehead presses against my chest, right over my heartbeat.

“Why are you being such a downer?” He murmurs, sounding so sad it hurts.

I sigh long and deep, just to stay calm. “I’m not being a downer, just realistic.”

“No, you’re still trying to keep me away from you because you think you're bad. But Baz.” He sits up suddenly, leaning over me and cupping my cheek. Warmth spreads through my skin. “You're not bad. You make me happy too. You really can’t scare me away now. So I’m not leaving you, even if you end up in bloody Switzerland.”

Christ, I want to believe him, I really do. I squeeze my eyes shut. “You say that right now,” I whisper, “but we’re only 17, Salisbury. Could we really handle a long distance relationship after only a month of actually being together?”

Simon goes back to silence, and I keep my eyes closed. It’s easier. This is one of the few times I don’t want to see his glorious face. Because I fear it will be twisted in sadness or anger. Or worse, indifference.

“Baz,” he finally replies, “aren’t we worth it to try?”

That hits me right in the heart. I inhale sharply, eyes flying open. Simon isn’t sad, or angry, or indifferent. It’s more complicated than that. He’s forlorn, but hope pushes through, showing in his open eyes and slight smile. It fucking kills me.

“Simon-” I manage to choke out, my throat suddenly feeling clogged up with emotion.

“Baz.” He puts a second hand on my face. “I trust you when you say you won’t get bored with me, right? Well, trust _me_ when I say I’m not giving up on you. Okay?”

All I can manage to do is nod. Simon nods back, then leans down to give me a dizzying kiss. I work my fingers into his hair, feeling every soft curl against my touch. Three words immediately come to my mind. I’m not ready to say them aloud, but I hold Simon closer, and I kiss him harder, saying it all in my movements instead

My base instincts tell me to keep him away, to never allow him to get to close to me. But fuck that. No more of those thoughts. No more destroying my own happiness.

I swear to every god there is, I’m never letting this boy go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like there needed to be this discussion. Getting into a relationship doesn't fix everything. Both of them have issues, be it with insecurity or self sabotaging, and they gotta work it out. Hope this talk was satisfactory and even though this was short you all liked the chapter. See you next time! :)
> 
> Chapter title is from "Feeding a Fire" by Hayley Kiyoko


	10. everything back and more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Baz have some time before exams start. They decide to go on a date before the storm begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay okay omg two amazing people made fan art of this fic and I'm so happy and grateful. There's [this fantastic piece of my punk Baz by neck-mole](https://neck-mole.tumblr.com/post/177660529615/ok-i-just-love-bazypitchandsimonsnows-fic) and [this wonderful art of my pastel and punk beauties by jessethejoyful](http://jessethejoyful.tumblr.com/post/177697022276/i-also-read-bazypitchandsimonsnow-s-pastelgoth) . I love them so much and I'm still freaking out about it so thank you to those two again. Now onto the chapter. It's more fluff cause my boys need it tbh.

“You and your boyfriend are gross.”

I plant myself on the picnic table with a thunk, giving Niall a curious look. “And good afternoon to you too, mate.”

“I’m serious,” he says, arms crossed. “You two are disgusting.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Huh, didn’t peg you for a homophobe, Niall.”

Niall rolls his eyes and shoves my leg. “Fuck off, you know that’s not what I mean. You two are snogging everywhere all the time. Didn’t you just get caught in the gym closet yesterday?

That’s unfortunately true. We did get caught, with Simon’s legs around my waist and my hand up his shirt. Coach Mac was certainly not amused. He made us reorganize said closet as punishment. It was totally worth it though.

After our talk last week, I assumed Simon and I wouldn't be around each other as much, no longer afraid that our relationship would end abruptly. But it’s the exact opposite. We sneak off between classes, after school if I’m not with Bunce, at night if we both can’t sleep. He’d be here right now hanging with my friends if he didn’t have a makeup chem lab to do with Bunce. I don’t know exactly why. Maybe it’s something about our promises, the trust we gave each other. Confessing our fears and understanding them.

Or maybe we’re horny teenagers who like to snog and cuddle. That would also make sense.

“He’s my first boyfriend, give me a break.” I snatch Dev’s cigarette carton and take a stick out for myself. “And I might not see him again for a year if exams go badly.”

“We get it, man,” Dev says. “And we’re happy for you. But you’re also snogging 24/7 and it’s gross.”

I take a deep drag and grin. “Yup.”

Niall sighs and leans back, his stupid aviators slipping down his face. (He thinks they’re cool. And I hate that he’s right.) “Whatever, fine. Be gross. But I have some questions for you.” He points his cigarette at me very dramatically.

“Okay...”

“One: if you go to Switzerland, how the hell are we going to contact you?”

“Simon said he’d mail me. You know, snail mail. You two can do that as well.”

“Good. Two: Are you going to come home for the holidays?”

“Probably not. Only if I behave maybe.”

“That sucks. And three: can I have your bike while you’re gone?”

I blow smoke in his face. He coughs, Dev laughs loudly. “No, you git. My beloved motorcycle will be stored in Simon’s garage so my father can’t dispose of it while I’m away.”

Niall groans pathetically. “That’s not fair. I’ve wanted that thing for ages and now I don’t even get it if you’re gone? Rude.”

“You’ll crash it.”

“Will not.”

“Will to. Simon is scared to ride it without me, so I know he’ll just leave it alone. Unlike you.”

Niall pouts, crossing his arms. “You and your stupid responsible boyfriend.” He lowers his sunglasses and gives me a curious look. “Have you two horny idiots even been on a proper date yet? Or are you just defiling everywhere you go?”

I open my mouth to protest, but quickly have to shut it. With all the excitement and exam cramming and sneaking around, we haven’t remembered to do something so simple as a date. That is a grave injustice. And I must correct it.

I pull out my mobile and open Simon’s contact in my phone. He’s still listed as “Pretty Moron”. I’ve refused to change it even since we’ve started dating.

 **Baz** [12:36]  
_Hey wanna going on a date after school? If so, meet me outside the north entrance._

 **Pretty Moron** [12:37]  
_ok sure this is kinda out of the blue luv_

 **Baz** [12:38]  
_Do I need an excuse to want to go on a date with my boyfriend?_

 **Pretty Moron** [12:38]  
_no it’s just odd and spontaneous_

 **Pretty Moron** [12:38]  
_i like it tho_

 **Pretty Moron** [12:39]  
_i’ll meet you then <3 _

**Baz** [12:40]  
_See you then. Now go back to your chem lab idiot._

Simon doesn't reply, thankfully. He needs to pass his classes as well. This is perfect actually. Exams start tomorrow. Simon and I can have a good time before mentally dying. I lean back, eyes closed and smiling.

“Ugh he looks all lovesick again,” Niall groans. “Gross.”

I kick his shoulder, nearly knocking him off the bench. Dev snorts.

“Careful, Niall,” Dev says, “he’ll tease you just as much when you get a girlfriend.”

 _"If_ he gets a girlfriend,” I say flatly.

Niall punches my feet. Dev roars with laughter. Fuck, I’m going to miss these two if I leave. I wish I’d put my pride aside earlier, and given myself a better chance of staying. I only hope it will work out now.

 

* * *

 

Simon saunters out of the north school entrance with his typical sunshine grin. He’s wearing floral shorts, mismatched floral shirt, a rosebud bracelet, and his checkered Vans because he has no regard for fashion norms whatsoever. It's amazing. Bunce is by his side, holding her heavy textbooks. When Simon spots me, he runs up and wraps his arms around my shoulders, planting a wet kiss on my cheek.

“Hi, darling,” he purrs.

“Hello, love,” I reply hushed.

Bunce promptly ruins the mood by fake retching onto the sidewalk. I roll my eyes. Simon chuckles. “Thanks, Pen.”

“I can’t believe I agreed to help Basilton just so you two could be gross for longer.”

I shrug. “Well, I certainly do appreciate the help. Thank you, Bunce.”

“Aw,” she drawls sarcastically. “You’re going to make me actually sick up.”

Simon sticks his tongue out and holds onto me tighter.  “You think he’s going to ace his exams tomorrow, Pen?”

“If he follows my brilliant teaching? Yes.”

“I’ll do my best,” I say genuinely. Because I will, no doubt. Because I have too much to lose if I don’t. Bunce notices, observant as she is, nodding with a genuinely kind expression.

“So,” Simon says, “are we off to our date now?”

I grin wolfishly, excitement brewing in my gut. “As soon as you get on my bike, yes.”

Bunce sighs, already turning on her heels. “Bye, arseholes. Don’t defile too many places, please.”

Simon shrugs. I flip her off. He swings his legs over the back of my bike and wraps his arms around my middle automatically. Two engine revs, and we’re off.

Originally, I thought about taking him to Mount Olympus. But that’s too predictable. Simon and I need more than one place to call our’s. So we don’t head north towards my neighbourhood, but west, towards the Wavering Wood.

It’s another secluded area in town, surrounded by willow trees and thick brush. Most people avoid it. But I know of somewhere perfect for us. With some brilliant manoeuvring and and careful driving by me, we end up in a small clearing by a pond. The grass is soft and flat. Willow trees give us just enough shade to be comfortable. The water sparkles in the sunlight like something out of a dream.

“Wow,” Simon gasps, “this is gorgeous.”

“Our little town is full of surprises. And,” I pull out a large plastic bag from my knapsack, “so am I.”

I bring out the plastic tablecloth first. It’s white and red checkered, like something out of the fifties. Then I take out the roast beef sandwiches and sour cherry scones. Cousin Pritchard was more than happy to give me some fresh ones for free. Simon’s eyes light up beautifully at those. I spread out my arms with flourish.

“Ta-da,” I announce.

“A picnic by the water?” Simon giggles. “Really?”

“I’m feeling romantic. Sue me.”

He quickly plops himself down cross legged on the crinkly plastic. “Hey, I’m not complaining. Especially if there’s food.” He opens the takeaway container, grinning at the roast beef. “When did you get all this? At lunch?”

I sit down too, stretching out to lounge next to him. “No, free period at the end of the day. I broke many speed limits getting all of it.”

“Baz! You’re supposed to study during free periods!”

I sigh, shaking my head. “Simon, exams start tomorrow and I’ve been studying intensely for three weeks. If I’m not ready, then neither Bunce or I are as smart as we think we are.” Simon still looks concerned. I reach out and grab his hand, running my thumb over the back of it. “I’ll be alright, love. Trust me.”

His expression finally breaks, a corner of his lip pulled up. He stretches out next to me, not letting go of my hand. “Okay.”

Simon digs into his food. I laugh at all the crumbs around his mouth. Part of me wants to kiss or lick them off, but I settle for just brushing them. Simon giggles and blushes, making my heart soar. He goes after the scones almost immediately after finishing his sandwich. Of course he inhales them like a vacuum cleaner.

“Leave some for me, Salisbury,” I grumble.

“Fine,” he groans, handing me a pastry.

“Sorry I’m not letting you eat _all_ of the sugary treats, love. I know it’s a sacrifice.”

He glares, but the weight of it is lessened by his bulging chipmunk cheeks filled with crumbly pastry. I just keep smiling as I bite my singular scone.

Once we’re done, I end up on my back with my eyes closed, Simon half resting on my chest. He uses an index finger to slowly run over my collarbone. I trace circles in the small of his back. His strong chin digs into me slightly, but I’m fine. Really, I’m fantastic. I’ve sitting by a pond, resting in willow tree shade, all with a gorgeous boy pressed against me. This might be heaven. But I wish Simon seemed to feel the same.

“Simon,” I sigh, “stop looking at me like that.”

I can practically hear Simon frown in confusion. He knows I can’t see him, but I’m incredibly perceptive. I can feel it. “Like what?”

“Like I’m going to disappear the second you close your eyes. I’m still here, and I’m not going anywhere just yet.”

“O-Oh.” He lowers his head, putting his arms around my middle and his cheek over my heart. “Sorry.”

I sigh, petting his hair. “It’s alright, love, I understand. Everything starts tomorrow. Just...” I wrap both my arms around, trying to get him even closer. “Just don’t start letting me go until I’m actually gone.”

Simon growls slightly, like a defensive animal. He scoots up and buries his face in my shoulder. His grip on my waist tightens. I can feel his every huffy hot breath.

“I’m not letting you go ever,” he whispers harashly. “I promise.”

I chuckle, amused by his affection and determination. “I know, love. Me neither, and I’m going to fight like hell to stay. I promise.”

He starts moving around. I can’t see what he’s doing from my angle. Suddenly, Simon is lifting up my hand and putting something around it.

“Simon, what are you-”

“It’s for good luck,” he blurts. “For tomorrow.”

I lift up my wrist. It’s a rosebud bracelet like the one he's wearing. But strangely, the flowers are black instead of pink. It looks handmade. The roses are meticulously hand coloured, each flower obviously glued on one by one. I strain my neck down to kiss the top of Simon’s soft hair. He squeezes my sides

“Thank you, love,” I whisper.

Simon hums in approval. I fall back and look back out the sky. We go quiet again, and I bask in the moment. This perfect moment just before the storm really starts. With Simon against me, my fingers in his hair, him breathing softly, gripping my shirt, and everything calm around us.

For a long while I thought I wanted to burn the whole world down. But now, I think I could be content just staying here forever.

 

* * *

 

Watford is looming over me even more than usual. I feel like the whole building is going to lean down and fucking eat me. Students walk in without noticing me. Most look like they’ve been hit by a bus, with messy hair, baggy eyes, and piles of loose notes in hand. I try to look calm, but my hand is fiddling like mad, spinning Simon’s bracelet over and over. The smooth glide of it is comforting. I try to focus on that. Until something crashes into me so hard I nearly fall over.

“Fuck!” I wheeze.

Suddenly, a familiar freckled face pops in front of me. “Hi.”

“Bloody hell, Simon,” I breathe out harshly. “You scared me, arsehole.”

“Sorry,” he chuckles, absolutely not sorry at all. He’s wearing his rose flower crown again. He does tend to wear it when he’s excited. “You seemed really deep in thought, love.”

I sigh, running a nervous hand over my hair. “Just, this is it. Whatever I do starting now decides my fate. Ugh, Christ, that’s so over dramatic.”

“It’s fine, I understand. And don’t worry.” He reaches down to squeeze my hand, the one with the bracelet on, his matching one right next to it. “You’re going to do great.”

“You better! Or I’m going to have to deal with a very weepy Simon.”

Penelope Bunce saunters her way up to us, pushing her glasses up her nose. Simon grins and throws his arm around her shoulders. “Well, if you taught him well, then we all should be fine, right?”

“Teaching can only get you so far depending on the person.” She flashes me a smug as all hell look, and if Simon wasn’t in my way, I swear I’d kick her. But that smug smile soon becomes genuine, and to my utter surprise, she walks in front of me, stands on her toes, and ruffles my hair. What the hell?

“Good luck, Baz,” she says. “You might not want it, but I’ll give it anyway.”

Huh, not what I was expecting. But I certainly appreciate the sentiment. I nod. “Thank you.”

She nods in reply, then turns to walk into the school. Simon and I are the only ones left outside. I feel him lean against me, his arm perfectly lined up with mine.

“Good luck,” he whispers. “I don’t think you need it, but I want to say it.”

I kiss the top of his head. “Thank you, love. Good luck to you too.”

In a split second, before I can register what happens, Simon reaches up, turns my head, and kisses me. It’s insistent and passionate. He’s obviously holding nothing back, so I don’t either. I put hands on his hips and pull him against me. Simon’s arms wrap fully around my neck, pressing us together even more. If I could, I'd never let go.

But we do have to pull apart eventually, though our faces stay close. I keep my eyes closed and lean my forehead against his. He breathes heavily. The smell of cherries tickles my nose.

“Good luck,” he whispers.

“You already said that,” I reply. He smacks my head lightly.

“Shut up.”

“Nope. If I do well, you’re going to be stuck with me and my smart mouth.”

He pulls back, letting his arms fall down until we’re holding hands. “Yeah, I know. So go ace those goddamn tests.”

I start walking us towards Watford, fingers laced together, so tight and unwilling to part. “As you wish, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter may feel like filler but I wanted it really badly. Baz needed to settle shit with his friends of course. And Simon and Baz need some normalcy through all this craziness. Like, I wanted them to have a calm moment before exams. I also felt like I needed to show them being normal. Just them go on normal dates with no snogging and being happy together. Sorta shows they could continue after this insanity and excitement, hm? Hope that got across. This is probably unnecessary but I always feel the need to explain my writing. Thank you for reading! And thank you again to the amazing fan artists! :D
> 
> Chapter title is from "War" by Sum 41


	11. fingers walk your thigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the night before exam marks are posted. Possibly their last night, so Simon invites Baz over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in two days?! What?!?!?! Well, school for me starts tomorrow, and this chapter is quite short, so I'm updating super early. And oooooooh spicy summary! But this is still a T rated fic, so don't get too excited lol. Enjoy!

My hand hurts. I skipped a lot of exams last year and forgot about that part. My muscles are all cramped from being wrapped around a pencil for hours for days on end. I keep stretching it out in hopes the pain goes away. No such luck. My brain hurts too. It feels like I puked all knowledge onto those pages and now my thoughts are empty. I just feel so exhausted. I can't even force myself to get off my bed to change out of my jeans and jacket.

Exam marks are posted tomorrow. I’ll know if I get to stay tomorrow. Stay in Watford Cove, with my friends, with Simon. If I was the dramatic sort of person, which I’m not of course, I’d say tomorrow is judgement day.

I can only hope I’m worthy.

My phone buzzes next to me. With far more effort than usually needed, I reach over and hold it over my face.

**Pretty Moron** [7:25]  
_heyyyyy <3 <3 _

**Pretty Moron** [7:25]  
_how’s it going?_

**Baz** [7:26]  
_My hand fucking hurts._

**Pretty Moron** [7:27]  
_lol well exams will do that_

**Pretty Moron** [7:27]  
_what r u doing rn?_

**Baz** [7:28]  
_Texting you, idiot._

**Pretty Moron** [7:29]  
_fuck off dick_

**Pretty Moron** [7:30]  
_i meant if ur busy_

**Baz** [7:31]  
_No, not really. Just tired._

**Pretty Moron** [7:32]  
_okay_

**Pretty Moron** [7:33]  
_my gran’s out playing cards all night_

**Pretty Moron** [7:35]  
_wanna come over?_

**Pretty Moron**  [7:36]   
_only if ur not 2 tired tho_

**Pretty Moron**  [7:36]   
_but u could come over_

**Pretty Moron**  [7:38]   
_and stay the night_

**Pretty Moron**  [7:38]   
_if u want_

I nearly drop my phone many times reading that. Okay, this may be crazy, but I cannot be misinterpreting what he means. It's pretty obvious, right? But he's also Simon, so he's sometimes quite oblivious. If this were some TV show, I’d know _exactly_ what that meant. There'd be zero doubt in my mind. But this is real life. Do people really do this? Would Simon? He is very bold sometimes, that's for sure. Is he _this_ bold? Fucking hell, am I?

Tomorrow is judgement day after all. So...tonight could be my last chance for a long while. Our last chance.

**Baz** [7:43]  
_I’ll be over there in half an hour_

 

* * *

 

This time, it takes only two pebbles to get Simon to open the window. I wonder if he was waiting for me this time. He gives me a tired, exasperated smile.

“I told you,” he semi-shouts down, “my Gran’s not home. You could’ve just rung the bell.”

I shrug. “This is more fun.”

Simon rolls his eyes as I run up to the trellis. It’s much harder climbing up it with the plastic shopping bag. I manage though, swinging my legs up onto the porch roof and crawling to Simon’s window. He gives me a hand getting in, then wraps his arms around my neck, smiling all the way to his ears as he gazes at me.

“You came,” he sighs.

“I said I would, didn’t I?” I reply, holding his torso close.

“Still, I’m glad you did. I-I wasn’t sure you would, really.”

I sigh, running my fingers over his back. “Well, I debated it a bit. But this may be our last night, Simon. And...I really don’t want to leave without doing this, with you that is.”

His face goes bright red instantly, eyes incredibly wide. Shit, I’ve fucked up. That’s not what he meant. I'm just a horny idiot. I’m going to leave and die from embarrassment.

“Sorry,” I murmur, pulling away. “I’ll just go.”

“No no!” Simon shakes his head rapidly, arms tightening on my neck. “No, don’t go, Baz. I-I want to as well. You just caught me off guard for a sec, sorry.”

I chuckle at that, I can’t help it. Simon looks at me funny. I just pull him closer. “You get all blushy and nervous when I flirt with you, but also snog me like it’s the end the world in a gym closet. You are just, a living contradiction, Simon Salisbury.” He still looks at me confused. “And I like that, a lot.”

Now he grins again, bright and brilliant. “Okay, good to know.”

We giggle like stupid school boys, pressing our foreheads together. He kisses me once, then twice, then a third time for good measure I suppose. But suddenly, he pulls back and lifts up my arm, the one holding the shopping bag, with a furrowed brow.

“What’s this?”

I chuckle. “Well, I assumed that you wouldn’t have supplies, so I picked some up.”

That makes his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Supplies?”

“Yes, Simon, supplies. I wasn't sure what we'd end up doing but I wanted to be prepared for anything. You would not believe the looks I got from the old lady cashier though, my god.”

Simon laughs loudly, throwing his head back. “Oh man, I can believe that. Sorry you had to do that, love.”

I shrug with a smirk. “It was worth it.”

His face softens. “Thank you, darling.”

We fall into silence and just stare at each other. Fuck, where do we go from here? I’ve never thought about this. Well, I’ve thought about after this, what happens when we start doing "it", but not how we get there. From Simon’s lip chewing and nervous twiddling, he has no idea either.

“You sure you want to do this, Simon?” I whisper.

He nods slowly. “Yeah, yeah I do. I’m just...”

“Nervous?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Hey.” I tilt his chin up so we’re eye to eye. I need him to be reassured, and I love looking in his eyes anyway. “It’s alright. I am too.”

He's surprisingly shocked at that. “Really?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve never done anything like this before. You’re my first boyfriend, first kiss, first anything, Simon.”

His jaw falls open. I can’t believe how shocked he is. “Seriously? I was your first kiss?”

I roll my eyes, trying to offset my nerves. “Yes, I just said that.”

“Wow.”

“What, do I seem like someone who’s super experienced?”

“Oh, uh, well, I um, I...” He chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “I guess, I uh, you’re really smart and confident and I just assumed you knew more about this shit than me. Since you know more about most things.”

I snort out a laugh. Simon turns more red, so I put down the shopping bag on his bed then grab his wrist and tug him closer. He lets himself fall against me.

“Well,” I sigh, “I guess we’ll just have figure it out together.”

He gives me a lopsided smile. It's relaxed and happy, and just fucking perfect. “Yeah, I guess so.” He chuckles slightly and shakes his head. “Oh man, having sex the night before you might leave forever. What is this, a teen romance novel?”

I chuckle. “It honestly feels like it sometimes.”

Simon and I both laugh, but it’s quickly followed by silence. We just stare at each other for awhile. Bright blue gazing into grey and vice versa. I sure as shit don’t know where to go, and neither does he obviously. Simon leans up to kiss me. But fucking Hell, I’m still not relaxed, and neither is he. I can feel the nervousness in both of us. His shaking hands, his tense face, the stiff movement of his mouth. Everything about him spells ‘uneasy.’ I’m about to pull away to ask him, but he does so first.

“Wait,” he says breathlessly. “Let’s do something.”

He pulls me over to his nightstand and picks up his mobile. A few taps later, a soft tune starts playing. It’s all violins and piano chords. I recognize the singer as that Sivan bloke Simon loves.

“What’s this?” I ask.

Simon walks back over to me and drapes his arms lazily over my shoulders. They're a comfortable weight on my tense muscles. “Dance with me.”

I give him a confused, curious look, but he doesn’t say anything to further justify it. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. We’re both about to jump out of our skins, Baz. So let’s not think for a bit and just dance.”

“Not thinking? That’s your solution?”

He shrugs. “Helps me. And it’s only for a bit. Just turn off that big brain for a sec and dance with me, Baz. Alright?”

I twist my mouth for a moment, but then I just sigh and hold his waist. “Alright, let’s dance.”

Simon smiles. He lets his head fall into the crook of my neck. I rest my cheek on his temple. We sway incredibly slowly back and forth, like waves calmly lapping at the shore. The only sounds that fill the room are our soft breathing and Troye’s melodious voice. I listen to the lyrics.

_I want you_  
_I'll colour me blue_  
_Anything it takes to make you stay_  
_Only seeing myself  
_ _When I'm looking up at you_

“This song is depressing as shit, Simon,” I whisper right into his ear.

“Shut up, Basil,” he grumbles. I chuckle and hold him tighter.

The song keeps going, we keep swaying, and bit by bit, I can feel the tension seeping out of me. Like a weight slowly being lifted off my shoulders. This isn’t scary. This is just Simon. Who wears pink sweaters and flower crowns, who painted my nails, who knows me better than anyone by now, who makes me happy, who I’m most certainly falling in love with. Yes, I can do this. At least I can do this with him.

Troye ends and the playlist moves on to something else. Simon pulls back to face me. His eyes are half lidded, his lips slightly open, all while bathed in his golden lamplight. Christ on a cross, I want to kiss him so badly. Well, I want to kiss him all the time, but especially right now, when he looks like something out of a dream. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches over and turns off the phone. All that’s left is our breathing, slow and steady.

“Okay now?” he speaks softly.

I take a deep breath and nod once. “Yeah, okay.”

He nods too, then reaches over to turn off the lamp. Silver moonlight bleeds in through his window. He looks ethereal in it, a glowing silver halo around his gold tones. Stretching up a bit, Simon kisses me softly, but it’s not tentative anymore. It’s languid, relaxed, like we have all the time in the world. I kiss him back in the same way. I feel Simon’s hands move across my neck, callused fingers scratching against my skin, then over my shoulders and under my jacket. Slowly, like a question, he starts pushing it down. I straighten my arms in answer, and it falls to the ground.

Being a total control freak, I rarely let anyone “do” anything to me, really. I always initiate. I’m always in command. I accept no less.

But not with Simon.

I let Simon do so much to me. Let him kiss me, let him undress me, let him pull me apart and put me back together in the strangest, most beautiful ways possible. There are some awkward moments, of course. They're unavoidable with our lack of knowledge. But we simply laugh them off or quickly apologize. Those moments are brief though. And all of it is overshadowed by sheer wonder of it all. That this is really happening. That we’re doing this. And it's incredible. I allow Simon to see every last part of me, and he lets me see every last part of him.

No guarding, no nerves. Just us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it has already been established, I'm a cheesy motherfucker. And this practically is a teen romance book so I'm just embracing how tropey it is. Hope you guys liked it. Next time: judgement day, and the morning after :D
> 
> Chapter title is from "Too Good" by Troye Sivan


	12. and we go ridin' around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's judgement day, and Baz has everything to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Judgement day! Well, fluff, then judgement day. Enjoy :D

I wake up to the sun is still rising, bathing the room in orange light. My eyes slowly adjust to my surroundings. It takes a bit for me to realise this isn’t my room, and this isn’t my bed. It’s not dark and looming, but bright blue and covered with Troye Sivan posters. When I focus on the golden face in front of me, I smile.

Simon’s on his side, his wild bedhead pointing every which way as he drools on his pillow (mouth breather). The sunlight dances perfectly across his tawny skin. He has one arm wedged between our bodies and the other hand tangled in my hair. I’m holding his waist under the sheet. I splay my hand across his back, pulling him a little closer. He snuggles against me.

“Baz,” he sighs with a sleepy smile, and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest.

I shift even closer, our noses almost touching. His eyes blink open slowly. Christ, they’re so big and blue. I really could lose myself in them happily. I see him taking in our surroundings, just like I did. A soft smile splits graces his face.

“Morning,” he whispers.

“Morning,” I reply.

“How do you feel?”

God, he’s so fucking considerate and kind. How the hell did I get so lucky? I play with one of his messy curls. “A bit sore, but I’m fine. Really, I’m too happy to care.”

Simon flushes down to his bare chest. He’s biting back a smile but not successfully. “Me too. I’m happy, I mean. I’m not sore. Except my neck sorta.”

I giggle, looking down at his hickey painted neck. There’s at least a dozen red and purple marks on his freckled skin in the vague shape of my mouth. “Sorry, love. I may have been a tad overexcited.”

“No shit, you bloody vampire,” he grumbles. But he still leans up to kiss me. His morning breath is terrible, but mine probably is too. Whatever. Not important right now. I kiss him back, cupping the back of his head. He digs his nails into my back. I hiss between our mouths. His scratches from last night are still fresh. Simon makes a noise of concern but I just kiss him harder, silently assuring him I’m okay. Suddenly, he gets on top me, pressing us together even closer. He rolls his hips and I gasp. I hold him closer. I can feel the heat building between us, the same heat as the night before.

Well, we do have some time before grades are posted, I suppose.

“Simon,” I groan, hooking a leg around his waist.

The wonderful bastard rolls his hips again, forcing all coherent thought from my brain. I scratch down his back, because he did that to me many times, and I’m petty as all fuck. Simon chuckles against my lips, then rocks harder. I push up, he pushes down, creating a now more familiar rhythm. Oh god, I’m never going to be able to leave this bed. I will die here completely content. I reach down between us, trailing down his chest to his hips, about to make him cry out beautifully.

But that’s when the wooden stairs creak.

“Simon, darling? Are you awake?” Ruth shouts up the stairway. Simon and I both freeze, heads facing the door.

“Oh shit,” he says hushed. “She’s back.”

“I can hear that,” I snap. “What the hell do we do? No matter how much she likes me, she’s not going to approve of me being in bed naked with her grandson.”

He pulls back, chewing on his bottom lip. “Crap, crap you’re right. Um...” He looks around frantically. “Hide under the blanket.”

I bolt upright. “What?!”

“I’ll pull up the duvet. You hide. Then you’ll sneak out the window before she sees you.”

I want to stare him down, but I can hear Ruth’s footsteps getting closer. So I just sigh and flop down. “Fine.”

Simon nods rapidly. “Good, good, now give me my shirt, and hide our clothes please.”

I grumble as I hand him his stupid oversized t-shirt, then push all our strewn about garments under his bed. Luckily we started the night close and it’s easy enough. But I still just make back onto the bed as Ruth knocks on the door.

“Simon?” She sounds very concerned.

“Yeah, Gran, I’m up,” he calls out.

“May I come in?”

“Um, sure. In a sec”

He mouths, _get under_ _,_  at me. _P_ _ull it higher,_  I mouth back.  His brow adorably furrows. I helpfully poke one of the many bruises on his neck, making him hiss. I smirk as he pulls the blanket over me, shrouding me in stuffy darkness.

“Come in,” he says, and the door creaks open.

“What are you still doing in bed, love?” She coos. _He was doing me_ , I want to say just to be a prick.

“Just tired from exams.” And screwing my brains out.

“Aw, poor sweetie.” There’s a pause. Simon shifts slightly, like he's pulling away. “Hm, you’re certainly warm and flushed.” I really have to contain my snicker. “Want me to get you up some soup?”

“Nah, I’m good. I just want to rest before checking grades at school.” Right, rest, that’s what we’ve been doing.

“Alright, love. Have a nice rest.”

She pads away, and the second the lock clicks shut, I throw the blanket off of me. Simon lets out a long sigh of relief. “That was too close.”

“Let’s meet up in a car next time,” I purr sarcastically.

Simon rolls his eyes with flushed cheeks. “Neither of us have a car.”

“Okay, we’ll do it on my bike.”

His eyes bulge out at that. It’s mostly shock, but I can see a bit of curiosity in there too. “I-I don’t think that’s possible...”

I shrug, rolling onto his chest with my arms crossed. “We could find a way. I’m brilliant, according to you.”

He grins brightly at that and reaches down to pet my hair. “That you are, darling. And you passed all your exams because of that.”

That makes me tense, hand clenching so hard my nails dig into my palm. I lay my head on Simon’s chest, right over his steady heartbeat. “We’ll know for sure today, I guess,” I murmur.

Simon keeps stroking my hair. I sink into the soothing sensation. “I know. We’ll get through it though, no matter what result says.”

“I know,” I sigh. “I’m still worried. I can't help it.”

His hand stills on my head. He leans forward and lightly kisses my hair line. It’s so soft and delicate it makes me shiver. “Me too. But we’ll still be okay.”

 _I love you_ , I almost say. But I swallow the words. I don't want to tell him like this. I don't want it to sound like a goodbye. “Yeah,” I whisper instead. “We will be.”

The sun is rising, the day is starting, and our time together may be reaching its end. I know I may lose Simon eventually, that we're young and relatively new and something simple could make this all far apart. But not yet, please. Not from this. Just...not today.

 

* * *

 

Sneaking out a window is quite difficult, really. Especially when you have to be silent and not fall over because your legs are weak. I barely make it to my bike without falling on my face. Slowly, I roll it to the next block over, like Simon and I agreed. I wait there for about ten minutes before the frantic pitter-patter of Simon’s feet. He’s wearing his flower crown and rosebud shirt. It shows off his hickies without shame. I hope Ruth didn't see him, but I can’t wait to see what Watford students think of that.

“Ready?” he chirps.

I hand him the helmet. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He puts it on and sits on the back of my motorcycle easily. It’s pretty much second nature for him now. He hugs my waist very tightly as engine revs. And we’re off.

The scenery of Watford blends together in brilliant colours like always. The bright blue water, the emerald green grass, all the beauty I may never see again. Simon’s arms are snug and warm around me. I try to focus on that instead of what may be on the grade sheets. It’s just like last night, when Simon and I danced. I turn off my big brain. I just live in the moment. I try not to think.

“Baz? Baz, we’re here.”

Simon’s voice shakes me out. Right, we’re at Watford High, with it’s tall looming presence. Simon blinks at me in concern. I smile and take his hand, his strong fingers weaving between mine. He smiles back.

“Let’s go,” I say smoothly.

Throngs of shouting students surround the bulletin board with grades. We have to muscle our way in. Simon is quite a help. Those broad shoulders certainly do come in handy sometimes. (He’d be good at American football.) Soon we reach the front. The white papers are stapled up to the ceiling, like their a tower about to fall on me. My stomach drops out. My lungs stop working. No, I can’t look, I can’t leave. I can’t-

“Baz,” Simon gasps. “Baz look.”

“Simon, I don’t-”

“Baz, just look!”

“Ugh, fine.” I raise my head and start scanning the names. Gershwin, Gloss, Granville-

GRIMM-PITCH: A A A A*

The world sort of tilts for a few seconds. The bulletin board goes wobbly, wavering like I'm underwater. I think I stumble, and very nearly faint. Simon holds onto my hand with a death grip, his other gripping my shoulder. He's keeping me upright, thank god. I barely notice as he drags me out from the crowd to a set of lockers, giving me some much needed breathing room. My head hangs low as I try to get reality back into focus.

“I...I did well,” I whisper. “My average...”

“It’s good,” Simon says happily. “You’ve got have a B at least.”

“I’m not being sent away.” It sounds so strange to hear it come out of my mouth. To say it with such surety and know I’m not wrong.

Simon’s hands grab my face, tilting it to look at him. His smile threatens to split his beautiful face in two. And I swear there are a few tears in the corners of his eyes. “No, Baz, you’re staying right here.”

I let out a breathy laugh. So does he. Simon wraps his arms around my neck and buries his face in my shoulder. I hold onto waist so tightly I fear hurting him.

“You did it, you brilliant bastard,” he giggles into my jacket. “I knew you could.”

I pull back to press my forehead against his. We keep chuckling while holding each other. The world disappears around me, fading to black. Similar to the night before, everything becomes just us, just Simon and I. The words spill out before I can stop them.

“I love you.”

Simon immediately freezes. He pulls back, eyes saucer wide and his jaw dropping open. I pull away farther, letting his arms fall from my shoulders and mine from his waist. My heart’s beating in my ears. I have to resist the urge to run far and fast.

“I-I, um, sorry I...” I sigh heavily. God, I can’t find the right words. This must be how Simon feels all the time. “Sorry, that was impulsive. We’ve only been dating a month, it’s too soon. I don’t want to put that kind of pressure on you. Please, just forget it and we’ll-”

“No, no, Baz.” He grabs both my hands and holds them firmly. He doesn’t look upset. In fact, he looks elated. “Baz, it’s okay. I was just stunned. But Baz, I...I love you too.”

My heart goes supernova in my chest. Something wt streaks down my cheek. Shit, am I crying? How pathetic, and a bit romantic, I suppose. I grab his waist again and hoist him up. Simon practically squeals as I spin him around. We probably look ridiculous but I don’t give a fuck about anyone else right now. Simon Salisbury loves me. He _loves_ me. And I love him, so damn much.

Suddenly, he leans down to kiss me me, and I stop spinning to focus on that. The way our lips fit perfectly and his grip on my hair is tight but never too painful. I don’t let him go, his feet still dangling off the ground. I never want to let him go again. And now, I don’t have to.

“Get a room you two, jeez!”

Simon separates from me with a groan. I gently set him down. Bunce saunters up to us with a smug look. It perfectly suits her, as always.

“We’re celebrating, Pen, back off,” Simon scolds good naturedly.

She sighs. “Then I guess Basilton is sticking around, huh?”

“Don’t look so disappointed, Bunce,” I drawl. “This means you’ll have more opportunities to boss me around.”

“In that case, stop abusing Simon’s neck.” She pokes just under Simon’s jaw, where I left a particularly big bruise. He frowns and slaps her hand away.

“It’s not like I was complaining,” he chirps. I nuzzle against his cheek.

“Nope, definitely quite the opposite last night.”

Bunce oh so kindly gags. Simon steps out of my arms to hug her tightly. He whispers something indistinguishable in her ear. From the happy look on Bunce’s face, I assume he’s thanking her. I hold out my hand graciously. Once she’s done with Simon, she shakes it.

“Thank you, Penelope.”

“You’re welcome, Basil. Now thank me properly by never flirting in front of me ever again.”

I shrug, just like Simon does. “I can’t give you any guarantee.”

Simon slings an arm around me. “Nope, he can’t.”

Bunce groans and rolls her eyes. “I hate you both. Exams and fixing Basil have exhausted me. I’m going home to sleep for a thousand years, bye.”

“See you later, Pen!”

"Farewell, Bunce." She flips us off as she goes. I can barely savour the moment before Dev and Niall crash into me. “Oof!”

“Nice job, mate!” Dev shouts.

“You’re sticking around!” Niall adds.

I chuckle, wrapping them both in my arms. They slap my back and ruffle my hair. Dev leans down to plant a wet kiss on Simon’s cheek.

“Oi! Hands off, cousin.” I let go do them and pull Simon close to me. He leans into it, putting his head on my shoulder and an arm around my waist.

“I’m just grateful he convinced you to not fuck yourself over.” Dev’s shit eating grin tells me that’s mostly true, but the little arsehole also likes getting under my skin. I lightly knock his head.

“I’m glad I’m staying too,” I say kindly.

“Of course you are,” Niall sighs. “Look at Salisbury’s neck.”

Simon leans closer. I hold him tighter. “Yup,” I say with with a pop on the p. “We’re going to be celebrating quite a bit tonight.”

Niall and Dev’s faces screw up in disgust. Simon is blushy but beaming. I start leading my lovely boyfriend towards the exit.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, gentlemen, promise,” I shout back.

“Use protection!” They say simultaneously. I flip them off.

Simon and I push our way out the door. We don’t stop until we reach my bike, leaning against it to stare at the cloudless sky. I let a long breath, and it feels like everything is released in it. All the tension and worry and wondering. It all floats away into the aether.

I’m free.

“Well,” Simon sighs, “it’s over.”

“Yeah,” I say quietly.

“What do we do now?”

I let my head loll over to his. Simon was worried this was all adrenaline, that I’d be bored once there was no threat. But the danger is gone. I’m not leaving anytime soon. Yet when I look at him, with his freckled cheeks and big blue eyes and pink flower crown, my pulse still speeds up like it did the first day I saw him. More important than that, when I look at him, I still feel happy, and like nothing could change that. 

I take Simon’s hand in mine. “Whatever we want.”

Simon beams. My heart flutters. He picks up his helmet and holds it between us. “Wanna drive?”

“Where?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Let’s just...drive.”

My face slowly morphs into a grin. Excitement burns through my veins. “I can certainly do that.”

Simon kisses me firmly once. It’s passionate enough my toes curl. As soon as he pulls back, he gets on the back of the seat. I quickly follow. He hugs my waist like always. I rev the engine, it roars to life. We race down the road, no destination, no deadlines, just seeing where the winds take us. And I'll go where ever it does, as long as Simon's by my side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you get a B average by aceing exams after you've skipped most of your classes? I don't know. This is fiction, let's pretend. And yeah, of course there's a happy ending. I can't handle sad endings, plus these boys deserve happiness. Like the whole story was about them growing and finding out ways to be happy. A sad ending wouldn't make any sense! Well, anyhow, hope all of you enjoyed that. The last chapter will be kind of a epilogue/tie up loose ends. I'll post it in two to three days. Thanks for reading :)
> 
> Chapter title is from "Something Else" by The Sex Pistols


	13. all i need is you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz and his father settle things, and he and Simon think about the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the end, almost exactly one month after I posted this. Hope you all like this wrap up :)

“These are...satisfactory, Basil.”

Father nods thoughtfully like some academic scholar. I resist the urge to roll my eyes so hard they fall out. Simon told me it’s better to be courteous now.

“Glad you think so,” I say flatly.

“I am confused though. How did you do so well after missing so many lessons?”

“I had help.”

He raises his brow, just like I do. Good God, I really am more like him than I want to admit. “From whom?”

“Penelope Bunce. And Simon, my boyfriend.”

I must admit, despite my efforts to be courteous, I do enjoy the way he nearly drops my report card. His mask of boredom almost cracks. Only almost though, unfortunately.

“I see...” He says it carefully.

I lean forward in my chair, elbow on my knees. “He made me want to stay. If it weren’t for him, I would’ve let myself be shipped away just to piss you off. And let’s be honest, Father, neither of us would’ve been happy about that.”

His lips twist slightly, and his eyes soften. I made an educated guess with that last statement. I’m happy to know I’m correct. “I felt I was out of options,” he sighs. “It may have been...misinformed.”

“No shit.” He narrows his eyes a bit. “Look, I get it more now. You were trying to save me from my own idiocy. But that idiocy was caused by our disagreement. It would’ve been better to try to resolve your issues with that.”

“Resolve what?”

I groan, rubbing my forehead. “Don’t do that, please. We both know what I’m talking about.” I lean closer. “I’m gay, Father.” His lip twitches. I’m not sure if that’s voluntary or not though.

“I’m aware,” he says quietly.

“I know, because when I told you, you pretty much told me I was a disappointment to the whole family, including my mother. That really fucking hurt. It was a low blow.”

He drums his fingers against his desk. It takes him a moment to find the words. “I know what I said was harsh. I was shocked, and I lashed out. And I suppose I’ve been too proud to admit that fault.”

I chuckle, because of course this is the way my father says, _I fucked up and was a prick about it._ “I understand that, but it was still terrible for me.”

“I know.” He leans forward, face softening as much as it can. “I apologize, Basil”

I let out a breath. That’s all I’ve wanted to hear since last spring. “Thank you, Father. I apologize for the way I’ve been acting. I want us both to move forward now.”

“And how do you suppose we do that?”

I lean back, trying to be relaxed. “I know you’ve got some outdated ideas about my sexuality. So I’m not asking you to accept me right away, but I’m asking you to at least try and work towards that. Could you do that?”

He drums the desk again. His expression stays neutral, but I can see the gears turning in his head. “I believe that would be possible for me.”

I nod once. “Good. And I’ll stop binge drinking and do better in school in return, alright?”

“That would be very much appreciated.”

“I’m not getting rid of the motorcycle though.”

There’s the eyebrow again. Maybe I learned it from him subconsciously. “This is non negotiable?”

“Nope.”

He sighs. “Very well. Just let us know when you’re leaving and coming back, please.”

I nod, standing up from the chair and straightening my jacket. “Then I’m informing you that I’m heading out right now. Simon and I have a date.”

The fact that he barely reacts to that is actually a victory, believe it or not. “Understood. Will you be home for dinner?”

“Yes, I believe so. But I may go to Simon’s. I’ll call you.”

“Thank you.” He turns back to his laptop, and that’s my cue to leave. But when I reach the door, he speaks again. “And Basil?”

I freeze with my hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”

He looks up from his work. “Please inform Simon he’s invited to supper this Sunday.”

Okay, didn’t expect that. I blink rapidly, gripping the knob hard to keep steady. I let half my mouth pulled up into a smile. “I’ll let him know.”

For the first time in years, maybe since I was 5 years old, I see my father smile. It’s a bit reserved and strange on his face, but completely genuine. “Wonderful.”

We both nod, and that’s all. For once, there’s nothing left unsaid.

I walk out of my own house, but without anger or trying to run away for once. It’s not a prison anymore. It’s not even the place where my dead mum lived. It’s just my home. And I’m not intimidated by it anymore.

My back pocket buzzes.

 **Pretty Moron** [14:53]  
_heyyyy did it go well?_

 **Baz** [14:54]  
_Better than I expected, actually. Are you already there?_

 **Pretty Moron** [14:54]  
_ya i’m waiting 4 u <3 <3 <3 _

My whole body feels light. Lighter than I ever thought it would be.

 **Baz** [14:55]  
_Be there soon <3 _

 

* * *

Simon and I have many places we call “our’s.” The Wavering Wood, Miss Possibelf’s classroom, the gym closet, Simon’s bed, my bed. But there’s one place we hold incredibly close to our hearts. And I drive my bike up towards it.

He’s already laying on Mt. Olympus when I get there, looking up towards the bright blue sky. His t-shirt is lavender, jeans faded and cuffed. His matching rosebud bracelet is still on his wrist, as it is on mine.

Simon doesn’t even need to look my way as I lay next to him, just curls against me when I’m fully stretched out. His hand immediately starts fiddling with my ear, specifically the new black hoops and black rose stud he gave me two weeks ago as an exam finishing present. I've rarely taken them off since.

“Hi,” he whispers.

I put a hand in his hair, the other on his side. “Hello, love.”

“So it went well?”

“M-hm. He’s trying now, and so am I. No more skipping classes for me.”

He chuckles. “You’re a punk reformed.”

I scoff. “I’m keeping the motorcycle, so not that reformed. Also, you’re invited to dinner this Sunday.”

“Oooh.” Simon rolls so his arms are on my chest, his cheek over my heart. “Fancy pants British gentry dinner. Do I have to wear a powdered wig and buckled shoes.”

I flick his nose, making him snicker. “Fuck off, arsehole, of course not. You will have to wear a suit though. We dress up on Sundays.”

He adorably pouts. “I don’t own a suit.”

“Then I’ll lend you one of mine. I’ve got a grey one you’d look absolutely stunning in.” I wrap my long fingers around his neck, caressing his warm skin. “Then I’ll rip the whole thing off of you after.”

By god, I love the way his cheeks go pink when I talk like this. But I enjoy his pleased smile even more. “I think I’d like that quite a bit.” He starts tracing a finger over my collar bone. It sends shivers down my spine. “So if your family knows about me, does this mean we don’t have to sneak out of your room at 4am anymore? It’s annoying as hell. And Gran heard your bike last time you dropped me off, she’s getting suspicious. I should just tell her, embarrassment be damned.”

I scoff. “My father and I may be on better terms, but we’re still shaky. Bringing my obviously-shagged-last-night boyfriend to breakfast would not be constructive.” Simon looks annoyed and disappointed. I pet his hair the way he likes. “Don’t worry, love. Once we’re away at college, we won’t have to worry about that. We can shag all we want without a walk of shame.”

Simon freezes. It takes me a moment to realise what the fuck I just said. Nice move, Basil. Just announce that you expect your boyfriend of six bloody weeks to go to the same college as you, or at least be in the same city. I’ve been thinking about it for a while of course, but I haven’t told Simon. And like the idiot I am, I’ve brought it up in literally the worst way possible.

“Shit,” I hiss, sitting up quickly. Simon sits across from me. “Sorry, sorry that was a bad way to say that. Too sudden, fuck.”

“You tend to do that sometimes,” Simon jokes.

My face still flushes, because I know he’s right. Christ, I’m so bad at this. I’m a terrible boyfriend. I rub my hands over my eyes. Maybe if I press hard enough the world will disappear. But slowly, a pair of smoother hands peel them away. When I blink into focus, there’s Simon, with his sunshine bright smile, constellation of freckles, and sky coloured eyes. They match the blue rose flower crown that I bought him two weeks ago. (It's like Lana Del Rey's of course.) Right, I don’t want the world to disappear. Because _this_ is my world, staring right at me.

“It’s okay,” Simon says kindly. “I’ve thought about it too, Baz.”

I give him a curious eye. “Really?”

He nods rapidly. “Of course! College is only a year away. And yeah, I’ve also thought about being near you for it, you git.” He cups my face, tracing my cheekbone with his thumb. “I love you, Baz.”

Every time I think he can’t surprise me, every time I think I’m prepared for his affection, my stomach still flutters with a thousand butterflies. I hold onto his wrists and feel his pulse beneath my fingers. Sometimes it still astounds me that Simon’s real. But most of the time, I’m just thankful he is.

“I love you too,” I say, words easily falling out of my mouth. They’ve become easier everyday.

Simon suddenly kisses the tip of my nose. It’s wet and weird. I make a disgusted face. He giggles. His laugh is so infectious that soon I’m joining in. It turns from giggles to happy howls, the sound resonating through the trees. We laugh so hard my stomach hurts. I fall back and Simon follows. We face each other, legs tangled and hands on each other’s sides. Similar to the night of our first kiss.

“So,” I whisper, “you’ve really thought about college? Like where you want to go?”

He sighs, fiddling with my shirt. “Well, sorta. Penny has made me think about it. She keeps giving me brochures and stuff. Mostly for art. She thinks I should go into animation or graphic designs.”

“You should. You’re a wonderful artist, Simon.”

He blushes and shrugs. “I don’t know.”

I press my hand harder into his back, somehow trying to push confidence in him through my touch. “Yes, you are. You’re absolutely fantastic.”

“Okay," he sighs, "but do I want to make a career out of it? Art has always just been a way to get out what I can’t say. The project was the first time I’d ever drawn for something else. I’m not sure I can do it forever. Or if I want to.” He sighs again, mindlessly tracing his fingers up and down my side. “My therapist says I don’t have to make up my mind right now. There's lots of time before I have to apply, or I could just go for general arts and see what sticks.”

I was informed about Simon’s therapist last week. He’s been seeing her since he moved. Apparently she’s helped him a lot with his Dad and all the issues that come with that bastard, as well as help him sort out his own chaotic head. I certainly appreciate her. I appreciate anyone who helps Simon. Selfishly, I like to think I’m one of those people too.

“You do what you think is best, love,” I say. “I’ll support you.”

“What if I wanted to run away to another continent?” His eyebrow waggle tells me how not-serious he is. Still, it makes my heart twist the tiniest bit. Christ, I really do love him.

“Then I’ll tearfully wave your plane away with handkerchief in hand.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You’d just want the dramatic moment.”

I grin smugly. “Yup.”

Simon sighs with mock disappointment. I hold him tighter. He knows me so well. And I love that.

“What about you, huh?” He asks quietly. “What do you want to do for college?”

“Well, I’ve always wanted to go to London. And last year, I was very keen on LSE. Maybe I’ll actually apply there now.”

“Yeah, you should. You’d do well at the smarty pants school. What do you want to do?”

I shrug, a habit I've certainly picked up from him. “I like English. Maybe I’ll get a useless degree in literature. Spend four years debating whether Emily Dickinson was a lesbian.”

He chuckles. “You’d have fun with that.”

“Damn right I would. And I’d have fun in London. So many streets to tear up with my bike.”

He laughs more loudly. That sounds is more beautiful than a thousand church bells. Once he’s calmed down, he starts fiddling with my jacket zipper, pulling it up and down over and over. It’s something he does when there’s an important question on his mind.

“What is it, Simon?” I tease, poking his side. “You’re fidgeting.”

His head snaps up. “Oh, uh, sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for, love. What’s on your mind?”

“So, uh,” he whispers, “where would you live if you were London? Uni housing or something?”

I’m not sure where he’s going with this, but the question certainly makes my pulse speed up. “Well, my aunt lives in the city. She has a flat with a spare room, so I’ve thought about living there with her. What about you, where would you live in London?”

His mouth twists, mulling something over. Something he can’t get out at first. “Well, Pen has talked about the two of us moving in together. She says I’m the only person she could ‘tolerate co-habitating with.’” I snort. Bunce does like to use big words. “So maybe the two of us would get a flat. And...maybe it’d be close to your aunt’s place?”

My heart pounds in my ears. There’s so much behind that, and I love it so much. We may not be ready to live together, and probably won’t for awhile, but we want to be close to each other. So we can have dates and laughs and unworried nights of shagging. So we can be together, even a year later.

I put my forehead to his. The blue petals of his crown tickle my skin. “I would like that very much.”

Simon hums in approval. “Okay. We’ll figure it all out when the time comes.”

“That we will.”

“What do you wanna do now? Go for a ride? I feel like some ice cream. Or scones.”

“Hm, in a bit. Could we just stay here for a little longer?”

Simon smiles softly, then leans forward to kiss me. It’s slow and calm, because we have time right now. We have all the time in the world. He pulls away but quickly shifts closer, tucking his head under my chin and holding me as close as possible. “Sure.”

I bury my face in his soft hair and feel his warmth under my fingers. The sun bleeding through the trees bathes us in dull light. Soft grass cradles us beneath. The only sounds I can hear are wind whistling in the branches and Simon’s breathing. It seems like the entire world is at peace with us. There are no worries or problems or deadlines, nothing keeping us apart. Just Simon and I. Together.

This is all I want. And I’m simply, happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all, folks. Watford Cove is officially wrapped up. It's been quite a journey, from writing, to editing, to posting, but I'm glad I did it. I've never done a long fic that's entirely in first person and an AU not based on something else. Not that Part of Your World was easier, just a different challenge than this. But yeah I enjoyed doing this even though it wasn't easy. Mostly because it wasn't easy. And I liked what I got to do with the characters and the plot a lot. I'm so glad other people liked it too. Thank you to every reader, commenter, liker, and reblogger, you guys are so nice and great. Big thanks to Mrs_ZombieOctopus for her never ending amazing support. And final thanks to the person who originally asked me for this. You probably didn't know you'd create such a beast lol. It's been a ride and I've enjoyed every second. See y'all next time :D
> 
> Chapter title is from "for him." by Troye Sivan.


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